Bellacine Black: Prisoner of Azkaban
by toujourspurPAL
Summary: Regulus's daughter used to go to Durmstrang. But now she's starting her third year at Hogwarts. The murderer Sirius Black has just escaped from Azkaban, and that can be a bit of a problem if your name is Bellacine Black. Canon but for all things Bella.
1. Chapter 1 The Sorting

_To Mr. Masper, who loves stories. To Mr. Nova, who loves them too. And to Mr. Moony, who heard this one first._

* * *

Bellacine Black wandered down the Hogwarts Express, finally stopping at the last compartment. She glanced inside and, very nervously, slid open the door. "Eh- hi. Mind- I mean, can I –eh- sit here?" The three occupants of the compartment turned to face her.

After an eternity of seconds, a girl with bushy brown hair smiled faintly at her and stood. "Hi, I'm Hermione. This is Ron-" she pointed to a tall boy with very red hair "-and Harry" –a boy with black hair and a lightning-shaped scar across his forehead.

"I'm Bellacine. I'm new at Hogwarts, but I'm in third year as ve- well." She sat down on a bench seat near the door, brushing her long black hair out of her eyes.

"As well? What do you-?" Ron stared at her. "Are you stalking us or something?"

"Okay, first off. There are five Weasleys here. Percy is in the prefects' compartment. Fred and George are outside the compartment, chucking Dungbombs at it. You're obviously not Ginny, so you're Ron. Harry is obvious enough on his own and I suppose you're Granger," she said to Hermione.

"Exactly. You know who we all are, but you said yourself this is your first year here," finished Ron.

Bellacine rolled her eyes. "I, unfortunately, have inside sources."

"Such as…?" queried Hermione. "You know, you look kind of familiar…."

"I'm sure that I- I don't, I can't think where you'd've seen me before," said Bellacine. "Inside sources? My cousin Dr-"

Just then, the compartment door slammed open, and in walked Draco Malfoy. "Well, speak of the devil," said Bellacine, one hand in the pocket of her robes. "Get out. Get out of it now." She pointed her wand straight at him.

"Talking to the Mudblood?" sneered Draco.

Behind her, Harry and Ron pulled out their wands.

"Shut up and get out of it, Draco, or I swear I'll hex you," Bellacine began threateningly.

What actually happened was far more entertaining. A ginger-colored cat that had been prowling the luggage rack above their heads suddenly slipped and fell right on Draco's head. Apparently, he thought it actually was a hex. He yelled and ran down the train corridor. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Bellacine cracked up laughing and returned to their seats.

"So, where did you go to school before?" asked Hermione.

"Durmstrang."

"Isn't that in Russia or somewhere?"

"Or somewhere. But yeah."

"Wow, then, do you speak Russian? I mean, isn't that what language it's in?"

"Actually it's German, but everyone speaks Russian too. That's why I went earlier- if you aren't from Russia or Germany or some country like that, you go two years early to learn the language and Grindelvald, stuff like that." Bellacine placed her trunk on the luggage rack with a flick of her wand. "Whose cat is this, anyway?"

"That's Crookshanks, Hermione's cat," said Ron. "And he's out to get Scabbers."

"Um- who's Scabbers?"

"Scabbers is Ron's pet rat. He thinks Crookshanks is out to get it, so…yeah. My owl Hedwig is up there," said Harry, pointing to a cage on the luggage rack. Bellacine sighed and turned to face out the window at the Scottish countryside rushing by…this time last year she had been on the Hesperus with Anya and Vasily Gnedich, Poliakoff, Krum, and….

* * *

The train was almost to Hogsmeade Station when it ground to a stop, brakes creaking. It would have been pitch black outside, if not for the waning moon.

Then the lamps suddenly hissed and flickered out.

"What the- where are we? Ow! Who are you?" Someone stumbled in and fell on top of Bellacine. Just as Hermione- for Bellacine could see her outline in the moonlight- stood to re-close the door, someone else stepped in.

"Hermione?"

"Who- Ginny?"

"Would whoever fell on my foot please get up very very quickly?"

Over in the far corner blue flames crackled into existence, illuminating the tired, lined face of a man. "Stay where you are," he whispered, and withdrew his wand.

Just then a hand reached out to close the half-open door. It looked as though it were rotten through; like the hand of a man drowned and decaying in water. An icy cold doused the compartment, and suddenly Bellacine could remember nothing bright, nothing beautiful, nothing happy, as if it was always winter and never Christmas. Across from her, she heard a gasp like someone suffocating, and a dull thud.

"Go," said the man. "None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks." His voice was as hoarse as the voice of another man she had met last summer, before everything….She heard screaming, far off….

The dementor (for Bellacine recognized its long grey robes and that icy, penetrating bitterness) remained framed in the doorway.

The man raised his wand. "_Expecto patronum," _and something silver-white shot out the end. Finally, thankfully, the dementor turned to leave and glided away.

She could still hear screaming…somewhere….

* * *

They had just reached the entrance hall at Hogwarts when a stern-faced witch called out, "Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!"

Harry and Hermione immediately left, leaving Ron and Bellacine behind. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Oh- right, that's Professor McGonagall. She teaches Transfiguration and she's head of Gryffindor- you know, the houses. Gryffindor is what me, Harry, and Hermione are in."

"Yeah, that's right, the Houses." Bellacine looked rather nervous.

"What House do you think you'll be in?" asked Ron.

Bellacine blushed. "Well, my whole family has been in Slytherin. Nice, lovely people, the lot of them."

"Blimey, and I thought you seemed all right!"

"Hey, what's tradition for if not to be broken? I certainly intend to."

Just then, Professor McGonagall reappeared and ushered Bellacine off to the room where the first-years waited. Ron stared after her, positive she looked familiar-

Why?

* * *

The new students had all been sorted but one when Harry and Hermione rejoined Ron at the Gryffindor table. Professor Flitwick looked down at the next name on his list and shuddered slightly.

"Black, Bellacine…."

So that was it: with her long black hair and gaunt face, her expressionless grey eyes, she looked very similar to Sirius Black. Whispers broke out in the Great Hall:

"D'you reckon…."

"…Black, he said…."

Nevertheless, she walked to the Sorting Hat with her head held high. Bellacine must have heard the whispers, but she gave no indication of anything out of the ordinary.

She put the Sorting Hat on her head- it did not slip over her face as it did with the first-years, but she was older than they.

_You'd do very well in Hufflepuff- loyal, and you're fair. Not many can say that._

_No-I want to be-_

_Or Ravenclaw, you've got brains, great brains. Never seen a mind like yours in all my days. And plenty of talent too._

_I want to be in-_

_Slytherin, then, why not? You're made for Slytherin, girl. So much power- ambition- cunning- brains. You could be great. You're a Black. Slytherin is where you belong. Your parents were in Slytherin- did wonderfully, if I do say so myself. What do you say to that?_

_I want to be in Gryffindor. I'm not like them._

_Very well then, _sighed the Hat, sounding like a small child that didn't get what it wanted on Christmas morning. _Gryffindor it is._

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Silence. Bellacine stood up, slowly, gleefully, and removed the Hat. She walked to the Gryffindor table, her head still held high.

"Hey, Hermione."

Hermione, Ron, and Harry stared at her. She bit her lip and moved farther down the table. There- by a short boy with brown hair- an empty seat.

"Eh- hello, may I sit here?" If she didn't find a seat soon- the Slytherins were starting to stare-

From a few seats down from the boy: "Oy, Neville, hand that down, will you?"

Only after the boy handed down a platter did he face her. Then it hit her.

"Oh my god- oh my god- I'm sorry, I didn't realize- oh my god," stammered Bellacine. Then she turned and ran all the way out of the Great Hall and through the school, till she found a small broom cupboard over a rather ugly tapestry of several dancing trolls, where she sat down, and finally allowed the tears to come.


	2. Chapter 2 Family and Friends

_Author's note and disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own any of this EXCEPT Bellacine, and any unique situations involving Bellacine. NOTES: 1.Bellatrix is not her mom(god, no.). Her mom is Lucius's little sister, Rocella Malfoy, who I invented for this story. 2. It's pronounced Bella-seen, not Bella-sign. Seen. Not sign. As in Justine. _

_I'm sorry it takes me so long to update these, but I do have a lot more chapters written. Patience, people, patience. _

_

* * *

To DannyPhantomPhanatic, who reviews all my stories and puts up with me in real life. And has done so for a very long time. And will continue to do so, because you are a good person and not at all like Peter the Professional Idiotic Traitor ...but I'm getting carried away here._

* * *

That night, she followed Fred Weasley into Gryffindor tower. He couldn't see her over the stack of Zonko's merchandise he clutched. Thankfully, when Bellacine entered the common room, it was completely empty. Then again, it was past midnight. 

When she reached the dormitory, all the beds but one had their curtains drawn. With a small sigh, she climbed into the bed farthest from the door, the only empty one. Sleep was immediate; the nightmares came later.

_

* * *

-A flash of red light- he was falling, and there was nothing she could do- the night chill and windy and his broom without a rider- the clouds drew back- there was light- and from the forest, from the forest- she knew what to do, she did, they had only learnt last year- but she couldn't remember, and he was dying here on the ground like her mother- her own wand forced out of her hand-_

"No…no…not…."

"Bellacine! Wake up!" Hermione shook her, hard. "What's wrong? What is it?"

"No…."

"It's okay! You're just dreaming!"

There was someone leaning over her, someone still shaking her. Bellacine finally woke up. There, her head between the curtains, was Hermione. Groggily, she asked, "What's going on?"

"I- I think you were dreaming. You were moaning in your sleep, but I don't know what you said." Hermione sat down on the floor. "Come on. Let's go down to the common room," she said.

"No."

"What? But Bellacine-?" Hermione stood again.

"So this is it? You'll talk to me now, when no one else is around? You talk to me when everyone is asleep, when there's no one to see you talk to the Black girl? You talk to me now, now you stop ignoring me? Is that it?" She was standing too now, facing Hermione.

"No, I just-"

"Is that it?" Bellacine repeated. "Ignore me then, I don't care, but answer me this: why? Why do you do this? I thought you, you of all people would understand- but you're all the same, aren't you? First with the surname, last with the person, eh? Because at Durmstrang- at Durmstrang it was like this too.

"You go back to bed. I'm all right. I- well, thanks. But seriously, go." And with that, Bellacine strode to the door. "Well. Go on then."

Hermione remained next to the empty bed. "Um," she hesitated. "I'm sorry." She glanced at Bellacine, then, as if she was embarrassed, stared at the floor.

"Are you? Then act like it." And she swept from the room.

The clock in the common room showed four o'clock in the morning. After only a few hours, it would be time for lessons. A fist of nervousness clenched her stomach. But how could she sleep? That dream- it was part of the reason she left Durmstrang and came to Hogwarts. The memory of that last night at her old school, playing Quidditch over one of the practice fields, one of the practice fields you could see from almost any window in the school,; the memory of what happened there was part of the reason. So long as she needn't fly here, it would be manageable.

Then the murdered Sirius Black- her uncle- escaped from Azkaban, and she had second thoughts. At Durmstrang, it was bearable; everyone there had a few relatives of that ilk, though none so many as Bellacine Black: Sirius Black, her godmother Bellatrix Lestrange and the other Lestranges, her godfather Lucius Malfoy and his family, even her own father had supported Voldemort, until he died before she was even born. But here it was so much worse, although perhaps if she had been in Slytherin it would have been less so.

Bellacine had lied when Ron asked her what house she wanted to be in. Her uncle was in Gryffindor.

_As long as I don't turn out like him, _she thought.

What if?

There Bellacine sat, staring into the fire. She would not- she would never go over. Not ever.

* * *

Already dressed, she left for breakfast before anyone else came downstairs. She ate breakfast so fast that no one else from Gryffindor had the time to make it down to eat. She preferred it that way, but hesitated to leave. Perhaps she ought to wait for Hermione; she hadn't meant to be so harsh. Though she did mean every word of it. 

Other students began to straggle in to the Great Hall after a quarter hour. Bellacine saw Neville glance around and sit at the far end of the Gryffindor table, as far away from her as he could possibly get. The magical ceiling- she remembered reading about it in _Hogwarts, a History- _was light blue with scattered wisps of white.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron came in. They passed by the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy did an odd impersonation of…something, she couldn't tell what. Possibly involving train rides, dementors, and teachers who really needed new robes. Harry sat down by a Weasley twin- probably George- who handed down the course schedules. Hermione, who sat down next to Bellacine, grinned.

"Let's see your schedule," said Ron. "Hermione- they've mucked up your schedule. Look- they've got you down for about ten classes a day. There isn't enough _time_."

"I'll manage, Ron. I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall." However talented Hermione might be, she wasn't a very good liar.

"But look…." continued Ron.

Bellacine turned away and examined the schedule in her lap. Herbology…P. Sprout. Care of Magical Creatures…R. Hagrid. History of Magic…C. Binns. Potions…S. Snape. Charms…F. Flitwick. Astronomy…A. Sinistra. Transfiguration…M. McGonagall. It all seemed similar to Durmstrang until she came to Defense Against the Dark Arts…R. Lupin.

"Hey, Hermione? What's Defense Against the Dark Arts supposed to be?"

Hermione, who was now steadily working her way through a full plate, coughed. "What do you mean, what is it? Don't they teach English at your old school?"

"Eh…just that. I do actually speak English, for your information. Would you rather I did the accent? The really weird accent-don't give me that look, you know what I'm talking about. Good, cos I still can't fake it without sounding like Adolf Hitler with a bad cold."

"Do you now," Hermione muttered sarcastically. "Never would have guessed you even knew what English was when it hit you in the face."

"Shut up, will you? Lovely. So what is Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Ron muttered something that may have been very derogatory about Durmstrang, Germany, German, Russia, Russian, people who didn't go to Hogwarts the whole seven years, and people who were related to random evil people(_through no fault of their own)_altogether. If that was even possible.

Icily, Bellacine retorted, "So now you talk."

"Oh, this is silly. Ron, Harry, Bellacine's perfectly all right. Just- drop it, will you?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look and Bellacine got the feeling she shouldn't be there. "I'll go find where" -she consulted the schedule- "Divination is."

"See you there," said Hermione.

* * *

"Ron, what is it with you? Why do you think-" 

"Well, just look at her, it's obvious she's-"

"No she's not; you just think she is, because apparently you have a thing about giving people chances. You just-"

Bellacine, who was at the top of the ladder to Divination, paused. At least Hermione was trying to talk to them. She went into Divination.

While the other three climbed the silver ladder, she examined the room. It was dim and smoky, and filled to bursting with puffy armchairs. Together with Hermione, she sat down at one of the small tables.

_**Trelawney's mental**_.

No really. What's she doing with Harry's cup again?

**_How would I know? None of this makes any sense, and the only time I see anything is if I go cross-eyed._**

I know. So mental.

**_Oh god, what'd she see in his cup now?_**

"I don't think it looks like a Grim," said Hermione.

Professor Trelawney sneered at Hermione. "You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."

Bellacine looked at the china cup. "It doesn't look like a Grim," she said. "It looks more like a…a wolf?"

Professor Trelawney ignored her.

"Please pack away your things…leave the cups on the tables…until we meet again…."

The four descended the letter in silence; then on to Transfiguration. She sat in the back of the room, in a row with Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Professor McGonagall called roll and began to lecture on Animagi- not a good subject, especially considering certain details of certain people's lives. Bellacine stared straight ahead at the board.

"Really, what has gotten in to all of you today?" asked Professor McGonagall as she turned back into herself. For lack of a better term. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not gotten applause from a class."

Everyone swiveled to stare at Harry, except Hermione and Bellacine, who rolled their eyes at each other. Very dramatically.

* * *

Bellacine, Harry, and Ron walked outside to Care of Magical Creatures. The sky was overcast but bright and the grass was tat bright shade of green of after a storm. They drew nearer to the Forbidden Forest; only then did Bellacine recognize Draco Malfoy standing at the head of a group of third-year Slytherins. 

"Great," said Harry. "Slytherins. My favorite."

Hagrid led them around the edge of the forest to a fenced-in yard, completely empty, and asked them to open their books. Paging through her book, Bellacine wondered what today's lesson would be- thestrals? No- she'd be able to-

If she moved her head a bit to the left and angled the right way, Draco became visible. He muttered something in Crabbe's ear with the air of an evil schemer. After twelve years she ought to know.

"God, this place is going to the dogs," said Draco. "That oaf teaching classes, my father'll have a fit when I tell him-"

"Oh, why don't you do us all a favor and shut up," muttered Bellacine.

"Shut up, Malfoy," added Harry.

"Careful, Potter, there's a dementor behind you-"

Lavender Brown pointed to the far side of the yard. "Look!"

Hagrid had returned, along with a round dozen of very bizzare creatures. They seemed to be part horse and part eagle, though much bigger than either of the two. Each talon on their front feet was as long as a hand, steel grey, and viciously sharp.

Bellacine recognized them from the previous yeat at Durmstrang. "Oh, wow," she breathed. "Hippogriffs."

"Beau'iful, aren' they," Hagrid shouted a little too happilly.

They really were, if you ignored those great talons. Midnight black, blue roan, the grey of winter sky, their coats gleamed in the afternoon light.

"Now firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud. Don' never insult one, 'cos it might be the las' thing yeh ever do," said the gamekeeper.

Beside her, Harry winced.

"Yeh always wait for the hippogriff ter make the firs' move. Polite, see?" he continued. "Yeh walk to 'im, and yeh bow. But if he doesn' bow back, get away sharpish, 'cos those talons hurt. Righ'- who wants ter go firs'?"

Everyone else, probably being very wise, backed away to the fence. Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Bellacine stood their ground. Hagrid glanced about nervously- no one stepped forward- then Harry did.

"I'll do it."

Bellacine knew the lesson wouldn't end well. As it turned out, Harry managed fine. Draco didn't. Neither would Hagrid.

* * *

They returned to the common room of Gryffindor Tower after supper,although none of them could even pretend to focus on their Transfiguration homework. Eventually, Ron, Hermione, and Harry left to go check on Hagrid, but not before an akward what-about-Black-no-let's-not-mention-it-here-we'll-be-fine sort of pause. 

She wrote her essay on Animagi of this century- according to the textbook. According to the text. People aren't as honest as some like to think.

Bellacine watched the small square of light in the grounds that was Hagrid's house. The door swung open...shut...open...shut...open...shut. Around her, the common room slowly emptied as students finished their work.

Neville hadn't even come down to the common room that night.

Harry and Ron headed upstairs as soon as they returned, but she and Hermione sat down in the two chairs closest to the fire.

"So, how is it here? Compared to Durmstrang, I mean?"

Bellacine thought for a moment. "I...I like it here. It's really different, but in a good way. Some of the classes are different, though. We never had Defense Against the Dark Arts there."

"Did- did you have many friends there? It must have been hard, leaving and coming here. Well, that is- you weren't-"

"Expelled? No." She stared at the flickering fire for a few moments. When she turned back, her eyes glimmered strangely with the reflection of fire on...

"Some friends, yes. But...it doesn't matter. And- well, I wanted to leave. You know who Karkaroff was- is?"

Hermione nodded, then seemed to catch on. "You mean he-?"

"He only got out of going to Azkaban because he turned a load of other people in. I don't know if he ever really changed- he probably won't be going back, though, I doubt he'd get a warm reception."

Hermione finally yawned and headed up the spiral staircase to bed. Exhausted, Bellacine sat back in her chair...she really ought to go up, she'd barely slept last night...but she sank into sleep without dreams before anything else could happen.

* * *

The next morning, Bellacine yanked a crumpled piece of parchement from her bag. "Potions today,and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Whatever that is." 

Harry grimaced from across the table. "Potions is bad enough on its own, but of course somebody was brilliant enough to stick the Slyhterins in with us. Not what we need in a class that bad, especially with Snape."

Bellacine flinched. She liked Potions, it came naturally to her. "Who's Snape?"

"Head of Slytherin, does Potions. Greasy black hair, weird nose, looke like a goth," said Ron, more than a trace of hatred in his voice. "In the running for Most Evil Teacher Ever award."

Fred- or George- Weasley came over to where they sat and pulled a cellophane bag out of his pocket. "Lemon drop?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all familiar with Fred and George's pranks, grinned at each other. Bellacine unwittingly took one. "Thanks, eh...random Weasley twin person."

"Sure."

A few seconds later, Bellacine ate the sweet. Apparently something seemed wrong, because she frowned at Fred and said, "Od uoy did lleh eht tahw?"

Everyone cracked up laughing; unfortunatley, Bellacine's laughter sounded like Mrs. Norris being asphixiated.

"Fred, what do you think you're doing?" asked a tall, freckled boy with red hair (not again) and glasses. "You know what Mum said-"

"Get out, Percy. You're a prefect, you're dammned Head Boy. We've heard, guess what? We really don't care." Fred scowled at his older brother.

"I don't care if you are my brother, talk to me like that again and I'll-"

"Shut UP, Percival."

Percy went pink. "Do. Not. Call. Me. Percival. It's Percy. Not Percival. Not Perfect Prefect Percival. Do you hear me?" His face was redder than his hair from yelling.

"Tolecnal referp ouy od?"

Fred smiled. "Oh, all right..._Reversius_."

Bellacine grinned, her mouth felt normal again. "Thanks, um...Fred?"

"How do you know all of us?" asked a boy identical to Fred- George.

"Do you want the inside sources answer- all very vague, but generally speaking quite a bit more enjoyable- or the Malfoy answer?" Bellacine replied.

Fred, George, Percy, and Ron all said "Malfoy?" at the exact same time. Hermione glanced at Harry, who glanced at Ron, who looked at Fred, who looked at George, who glanced at Percy, who stared at Bellacine, and swore under his breath. "What are you talking about?"

Bellacine sighed resignedly. "Oh, fine then. Draco's my cousin."

"Draco Malfoy is your cousin?" said Ron, looking shocked. "He's your cousin?"

She nodded.

George frowned. "Then Lucius Malfoy-"

"-Is my uncle? Yeah."

"God, that must be awful." Fred shuddered. "Remember last fall, George?"

"What happened?" said Bellacine.

"Oh, nevermind." Percy left to go visit with his girlfriend Penelope Clearwater, and Fred and George drifted away to find more victims: "Reckon Lee'd eat one?" "Well, yeah, but he'd only speak in palindromes then on out."

Bellacine looked at her schedule again as the Great Hall slwoly emptied. _Well, today's sure to be interesting. The only question is, is that a good thing?_


	3. Chapter 3 Great Expectations

_A/N: Thank you, awesome people who review! I broke 100 pages in my notebook of this over Xmas and am happy... yay.. exams tomorrow, wish me luck. DURMSTRANG ROCKS! SO DOES RUSSIA!! _

_

* * *

To Mr. Masper, spaghetti!_

_To Mr. Prince, toujours pur._

_To all Mr. Masper's friends at Auror Central, thank you for assistance with 'the theory.'_

* * *

"Settle down now," said Professor Snape."

The third-year Gryffindors and SLytherins were in Potions now, and Draco just came in, his right arm covered in bandages. Bellacine sighed. Already she could tell that if she'd pulled that on Snape, he'd give her a month in detention, and five hundred points from Gryffindor beside that. And she was the next closest thing to a Malfoy.

Draco set up his cauldron a table away from Hermione and Bellacine. Fortunately, she had no reason to acknowledge him, unfortunately, Ron and Harry did.

"Sir, I'll need help cutting up my daisy roots, because of my arm, sir," said Draco. Bellacine rolled her eyes; there was absolutely nothing wrong with his arm and everyone knew it. Except for most of the Slytherins, who were generally too thick to tell anything without the help of Snape answering everything for them.

"Weasley, cut Malfoy's roots for him."

What-?"

Hermione muttered in her ear, "Leave it. There's nothing you can do." Ron took the roots and began to attack them with his knife.

"You- can- cut- your- own- roots, Malfoy," he spat under his breath.

"Professor, Wesley's mutilating my roots, sir," Draco drawled.

The daisy roots now lay in a sad shredded heap next to Draco's cauldron, where Ron threw them. Snape sneered. "Weasley… switch roots with Mr. Malfoy. Now, Weasley," he said malevolently. Ron glowered and threw his finely cut roots at Draco.

There was silence, except for the splash of bubbling liquid, for a few minutes. Bellacine's Shrinking Solution was almost done when Snape strode to Neville's cauldron.

"Orange, Longbottom. Tell me, does anything I say penetrate that thick skull of yours? Did I not say that one rat spleen would suffice? Did I not say, quite clearly, that only a splash of leech juice would be enough?"

Neville quivered in terror under the gaze of Severus Snape.

"At the end of this lesson we shall all see how that toad of yours likes the taste of Shrinking Solution… or whatever this may be." Snape looked a little too satisfied.

Hermione eyed Neville's potion. "Please, Professor, I could help him-"

"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger." He returned to his desk at the head of the dungeon.

Neville shot a pleading look at Hermione, who leaned closer and began to mutter instructions in his ear, her lips barely moving. Neville's potion still wouldn't turn green; it was now a brilliant azure blue. Hermione was trying her hardest but nothing changed.

Bellacine looked at her watch. There were only ten minutes left… take three for testing… she had a minute left to act if the potion needed five minutes to stew.

"Excuse me. Mind if I-" She broke off, for Neville was staring at her, shocked and angry and a little afraid.

"That wasn't enough?" he asked, very quietly.

Bellacine sighed, drew out her wand and pointed it at his cauldron. She muttered commands in rapid Russian. The potion bubbled over the fire, and slowly, two by two, bubbles popped and released green pigment. She turned back to her own cauldron without another word.

"Harry," said Seamus Finnegan, "did you hear? The _Daily Prophet_ reckons Black's been sighted." Bellacine refrained from saying that if her surname was also Black, they'd all seen her.

She forced herself not to listen, afraid that someone would start to wonder about her. _I have nothing to worry about. No one here knows about the Secret-Keeper business. They just think he's a murderer, which he is, so if I go along with that I'll be fine. _

Neville's toad, Trevor, was perfectly fine two minutes later when Snape tested the potion. Which, of course, meant that Snape was in a lovely mood and decided to take ten points from Gryffindor because Hermione tried to help him.

"That's not-" began Bellacine.

"Anything you'd like to add, Miss Black?"

Slowly the class faced her and she saw the expression on almost everyone's face. Ron and Harry avoided her eyes and Hermione was too far away for Bellacine to see her.

They stared at her, hating and, yes, a little afraid.

* * *

After lunch Bellacine was the first to enter the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom as she hadn't waited around for everyone else to finish eating. Not even Professor Lupin was there yet. 

Now that she thought back, Professor Lupin must have been the man on the train. She remembered seeing an old, tattered suitcase with _Professor R. J. Lupin_ stamped on one side.

Bellacine flipped through the textbook aimlessly. It reminded her of her first- year book from Durmstrang, except this seemed to focus more on creatures like kappas rather than actual spells. Eventually more people began to straggle in to the classroom; Hermione sat down beside her. Hermione seemed exhausted already, her bag was stuffed with thick textbooks for ten or so different classes.

"Why are you carrying all those books around with you?" she asked curiously.

"Oh- it's nothing. Look, here comes Professor Lupin." Bellacine got the feeling that Hermione wasn't telling her something.

She caught a good glimpse of him as he passed by her desk, he was indeed the man she met on the train. His hair was medium brown but streaked liberally with grey and a faint scar stretched across his face. His face was unusually lined for someone who seemed so young.

_Then again, hair color certainly isn't an indication of anything. Look at your godfather. _[HA! Take that, Malfoy!

The professor set his briefcase down on the desk and smiled vaguely at her class. "If you would all put your books away, and please take out your wands. This will be a practical lesson only." He headed for the door. "If you'll all just follow me…."

They set off behind Professor Lupin down the now-deserted corridor. Turning a sharp corner, the class ran into Peeves. (Bellacine first encountered Peeves the day before, outside of lunch. Needless to say, she did not wish to repeat the experience.)

Currently Peeves was occupying himself by jamming Muggle chewing gum into the keyholes of several locked doors. The poltergeist continued to fill the keyholes until Professor Lupin and the class was about a metre away. Then he broke into son:

"I know a song that gets in everybody's nerves,

Everybody's nerves

Everybody's nerves,

Everybody's nerves

I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves

And this is how it goes:

I know a song-"

"Peeves," said Lupin dryly.

Peeves pretended he had only just seen Lupin and jerked backwards, his face full of malicious glee. "Why, it's loony loopy Lupin! Loony, loopy Lupin! Loony loopy Lupin! Loony loopy Lupin-"

Bellacine was astounded. Usually Peeves would at least pretend to respect the teachers, and he didn't dare mess with Dumbledore. Apparently Professor Lupin was an altogether different matter.

They stopped outside a door flanked by two stone gargoyles, which winked at Lupin as he opened the door. Inside was Professor Snape, sitting on one of a motley collection of old chairs, grading papers. Lupin made to close the door but Snape rose to his feet.

"Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this." He swept past Lupin and out the door, black robes billowing behind him like bat wings. At the door Snape turned on his heel and said to Lupin, "Possibly no one has bothered to warn you, but Neville Longbottom is in this class. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is whispering instructions in his ear."

Neville went scarlet as the class glowered at Snape's back as he strode down the corridor.

Professor Lupin raised an eyebrow. "I am sure Neville will do quite well on his own. I would like him to assist me in our first lesson."

As Neville went redder than Ron had ever been, Snape turned around again. "Whatever you say, Lupin. Whatever you say."

Lupin closed the door, frowning slightly. A wardrobe in the corner rattled violently and Neville glanced at it apprehensively.

"Nothing to worry about Neville, it's just a boggart in there." Apparently- though she couldn't imagine _why- _the rest of the class thought this was indeed something to worry about.

Then she realized said boggart would be turning into whatever she was afraid of most. Bellacine closed her eyes, trying to think what it would become.

_That last night at Durmstrang when…._No, it wasn't exactly fear when she remembered it, closer to fury and grief and an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Professor Lupin let out the boggart for a second time. "Parvati! Forward!"

Parvati and the boggart-Snape faced each other. A crack- a bloodstained mummy wrapped in dirty linen bandages faced her.

"_Riddikulus!" _

_Crack _

_"Riddikulus!" _

_Crack. _

_"Riddikulus!" _

_Crack. _

_"Riddikulus!" _

_Crack. _

_"Riddikulus!" _

Ron took a step forward, the boggart now a monstrous six-foot spider. For a moment, Ron seemed frozen in time, then he waved his wand and shouted "_Riddikulus_!" and the spider's legs vanished.

"Bellacine!"

She stared wildly around the room, not looking at the boggart; when she looked back the space before her was completely empty. There was nothing there. (That's what empty means, people.) [Sorry, I love sarcasm.

Or, perhaps, the boggart vanished because her worst fear was already in this room.

Professor Lupin stood across the room from her, he stepped forward, confused.

_Oh, yes, I'm really going to be able to make SOMETHING THAT I CAN'T SEE funny! At least give me something I can fight! _

_"Riddikulus!" _

_Crack. _

_Oh, yes, thank you. I really love dementors. _

Bellacine faced the dementor. Boggart. Whatever.

How was she supposed to make this comical? Suck out it's soul? Think faster, what to do, what to do- Bellacine aimed her wand at the boggart-dementor-

"_Expecto patromum!_"

A small silver white animal shot from her wand, the dementor backed away- someone was screaming and it wasn't her- someone was dying and she couldn't do anything- someone was dying there on the ground- and she could save him- he was dying- dying- gone-

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

The boggart finally vanished and Harry stepped forward but Lupin intercepted the boggart- he waved his wand once and it turned into a glowing silver orb, waved his wand again and it was gone.

The bell rang.

"Homework, please kindly summarize the chapter on boggarts, to be turned in to me on Monday. Class dismissed." The class charged for the door. "Bellacine," called Professor Lupin, "may I please have a word?"

"Yes, Professor." She remained at her desk, packing up her bag.

"You went to Durmstrang last year, am I correct?"

If anyone else asked her that she was going to get violent. "Yes, Professor."

"I understand Durmstrang starts a year before Hogwarts." He had a slight frown on his face, like he didn't like Durmstrang much. Then again, he probably didn't like Karkaroff much. Not many people liked Karkaroff much.

"Well, yes, sir, but actually if you aren't from Germany or Russia or some random little splotch of a country next to Germany or Russia then you go two years earlier than that so you can actually speak the language and you learn all the stuff that everyone else would already know, like Grindelvald and-"

"Bellacine," he said, and she realized she was babbling. "A true Patronus is advanced, very advanced magic- very far beyond O.W.L. standard."

"I- er, I know that, Professor. May I go now?"

He nodded. "I hope you enjoy Hogwarts."

"Yes, thank you, Professor." She walked out the door.

Only halfway to supper did Bellacine remember she had forgotten to ask about the boggart.


	4. Chapter 4 All Hallow's Eve

_

* * *

To all the members of __N.Black.C.:_

_live long_

_eat pudding_

_hug Wolfie_

_and dance with a tiki torch_

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts quickly became everyone's favorite class, excepting of course the Slytherins. Whenever Professor Lupin passed by, Draco always took it upon himself to comment on his shabby, patched robes: "He dresses like our old house-elf!" 

Bellacine overheard him mentioning this during Potions one day. End result: twenty points from Gryffindor, and a week of detention with Snape. She might have liked Potions if not for two things: the Slytherins, especially Draco, and Snape.

Snape was infamous amongst the Gryffindors for hating Harry, but it seemed he hated Bellacine Black just as much, if not more. And where had she seen him before? He seemed slightly familiar- perhaps he had come to Durmstrang while she was there.

The other classes were very low on her scale. At Durmstrang, Bellacine had covered everything the third-years were learning in Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy, and Herbology; Durmstrang was light-years ahead in Potions as well. Hagrid seemed to have lost his nerve; they were now caring for flobberworms lesson after lesson.

"Why would anyone bother to look after them?" muttered Ron after one class in which Draco had been particularly nasty. "They live. They eat lettuce. They die."

"This would be a 'veni vidi vici' moment except I really don't think that applies here," whispered Bellacine. Hermione rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Please stop being so smart and quoting random things. Can't you go a day without being weird? Would it really kill you to act normal?"

"But I don't like being normal," Bellacine protested.

History of Magic was even worse. Professor Binns, a ghost, remained at his desk for the entre lesson. From there he droned on about goblin riots and giant wars. Bellacine completely ignored him; she could always read the book or copy over Hermione's notes if worst came to worst. "Give it a break, Hermione; it's a question of maintaining my sanity."

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only class she enjoyed, even if it was unbearably easy. From boggarts they moved on to Red Caps, and from Red Caps on to kappas. She never did figure out what her boggart was meant to be on the first day, but she eventually figured out Professor Lupin's: it was the full moon. Perhaps someone he knew had been killed by a werewolf. She knew the feeling. Whatever mystery there was, Bellacine never had time to dwell on it for very long.

However boring the rest of the classes would be, Divination was by far the worst. An hour and a half wasted in a stifling hot classroom, fumes from the fire making her nose run, trying to make sense of soggy mush that belonged in a skip. Professor Trelawney kept staring at Harry with tears in her eyes (_maybe she's got eye drops hidden away someplace_, Bellacine thought). The rest of the class (excepting Hermione, Harry, and Ron) treated her with respect bordering on awe, particularly Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown They had taken to hanging about the tower top classroom during lunchtimes, and treated Harry like he was on his deathbed.

Bellacine didn't intend to be so bitter; she was just bored and lonely. Hogwarts might be better than Durmstrang in the way of, say, morals, but the people weren't. Not by way of actually acknowledging her, at least. Good friends and advanced magic to people who probably didn't even trust her and magic she'd learnt three years ago was a long, hard fall.

_I'm not a mass murderer. I haven't come to kill you all. Take one look at me- or at my surname- and if that's all you think matters, fine. So be it._

And so Sirius Black's niece went on her way through Hogwarts, trying to smile. Then she had a rare opportunity to.

"Bellacine, may I have a word with you?" asked Professor Lupin as she headed back to Gryffindor Tower one night after dinner, with Hermione and Ron- Harry had just left for Quidditch practice.

_Not again._

"Yes, Professor." Waving to her friends, she muttered, "Don't bother waiting for me." She followed him to an empty classroom. Lupin sat behind the teacher's desk and gestured for her to take a seat.

She did.

"You've been through everything in the third-year book." It was a statement, not a question, but she treated it as such.

"Yes, Professor."

Professor Lupin looked nervous for a moment. "Everything? Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, Professor."

"And the fourth-year book as well?"

How could he have known about that? She'd only borrowed it from Fred Weasley. "Yes, Professor."

"And the fifth-year book?"

"Well you see, Professor, I've never actually read through the Hogwarts fifth-year book, so I really couldn't say."

"But you probably have."

"Yes, Professor."

Lupin sat quietly for a moment.

"I mean, I'm really sorry, but I'd already been through everything we were doing in class and Fr- I mean, someone, loaned me their old book and I-"

"It's all right, Bellacine, I don't mind."

"No, really, I'm sorry, I didn't, I just- well, everything just-"

"Bella, be quiet, I don't mind."

"I- yes, Professor."

Lupin smiled faintly. "Now. I can teach you- at your own level, not what you've been putting up with. You should stay with your year, but I really think we ought to let you go ahead. You're being forced to put up with magic far below your level, and that's dangerous. So much power pent up, it could explode at any time… such is the danger of knowing too much, so to speak."

Bellacine stared at him momentarily. Was he really saying what she thought he was? Finally, she could have a chance to use all the power she had. After so long, the magic was burning to escape, she almost exploded from the sheer pressure of it at times. Feeling like a ticking time bomb was not an enjoyable way to spend life.

Finally, Bellacine grinned. "When?"

"Very soon, I hope. Perhaps next month- second semester at the latest. I'll let you know when." Lupin stood. "Be careful. Watch yourself."

"I- I will. _Spasibo_- thank you, Professor." She followed him to the door and left.

At the far end of the corridor, Bellacine looked over her shoulder. Lupin remained at the door, watching her. He seemed worried.

Why?

Why was he worried? What about, rather?

Along one corridor, up the next, an almost-full moon glowing faintly in the sky. It triggered something in her memory, something she didn't like to think about.

_Clouds swept back from across the moon- he was falling- they all streaked away, yes, of course they would, but she had stated- she had tried- she tried- it wasn't her fault-_

There was something here- some connection- but what was it?

Bellacine reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Eh…password, right, eh, Fortuna Major." She clambered up into the rowdy common room. Harry was already back from Quidditch practice; he had just left the crowd gathered around the message board on the far wall.

As Bellacine hovered near the door, unaware of what was going on, she caught a few snatches of conversation.

"Excellent, I need to go to Zonko's"

"Hey, Lee, I think Fred's plotting something…."

"Ron! Harry can't go! He's _supposed_ to stay in school!" said Hermione.

It must be Hogsmeade. "When?" inquired Bellacine.

"Last weekend in October- that's Halloween," said Ron. "And Harry has to go, he can't be the only third-year left behind, why don't you just ask McGonagall?"

"Yeah, I think I will," said Harry.

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to argue, Crookshanks leapt onto her lap, a large spider dangling from his mouth.

"Does he really have to eat that in front of us?" Ron scowled.

"Clever kitty, did you catch that all by yourself?" asked Hermione as Crookshanks fixed his lantern-yellow eyes on Ron.

"Just keep him away from Scabbers. I don't want your cat annoying my pet," said Ron grumpily. He finished his star chart with an over exaggerated flourish and handed it to Harry, who just sat down with them. "Here, just use mine."

Bellacine glanced at Ron's Divination homework.. "No, see here, if that's Polaris then Alpha Centauri is over here and Orion is in the completely wrong spot- Regulus doesn't go in Gemini, that's in Leo, what were you thinking?"

"Wow," said Hermione, "you're really g-"

"OY!" shouted Ron as Crookshanks suddenly pounced on his bag, where Scabbers was asleep. "GET OFF! GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!!!" He tried to tear the bag away but Crookshanks held on with the ferocity of a tiger. Ron shook the bag violently, and out jumped Scabbers, who darted under an old chest of drawers. Hermione's cat leapt after him, hissing and spitting. "CATCH THAT CAT!" bellowed Ron. "GET HIM! GET HIM!!"

Hermione immediately scooped up Crookshanks, while Harry felt around under the dresser for Scabbers. Finally, he and George Weasley managed to extract the frantically writhing rat.

Ron snatched up his pet. "Look at him! He's skin and bone! You keep that- that- cat away from him!"

"Ron, he- he doesn't understand, he's just a cat! All cats chase rats, Ron!"

"Most," countered Bellacine.

"Well, it's instinct," Hermione replied. "Crookshanks doesn't understand-"

"There's something funny about that animal! It heard me say Scabbers was in my bag," shouted Ron.

"What rubbish," she replied shakily. "Crookshanks could smell him there, what did you expect?"

"Well, keep him away from my rat! Scabbers was here first, _and _he's ill!" Ron marched stolidly up to his room, ignoring the people who were starting to laugh at him.

"Of course it's not Crookshanks fault," whispered Bellacine, "but what happened to his rat's paw?"

For Scabbers's paw had been missing for as long as anyone could remember. Had it been the work of some other cat- Mrs. Norris?- but for some reason, no one knew.

* * *

The whole class was gathered around a sobbing Lavender Brown by the time Bellacine ran up to the line outside Transfiguration.

"What's happening? What's wrong?" she panted.

"It's her rabbit, Binky. He was killed by a fox," whispered Hermione.

Lavender sniffed dramatically. "I should have known!"

"Er- should you?" inquired Harry, totally mystified.

"The thing you're dreading! She said it would happen on the sixteenth of October! Professor Trelawney said so!" sobbed Lavender.

There was a near-collective gasp.

"You were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?" queried Hermione. Parvati scowled at her.

"Well (-sniff-) not by a (-sniff-) fox obviously, (-sniff-) but of course I was dreading him (-sniff-) dying!" She blew her nose loudly.

"Yes…was he an old rabbit?"

"He (-sniff-) was only a b-baby (sniff-)!" wailed Lavender even louder.

Bellacine took over for Hermione. "See here, if he was only a baby, you wouldn't have been dreading him dying, would you? And he didn't even die today, he must have died maybe two or three days ago if you just got the letter from your parents today."

"I don't know who you think you're talking to, Bellacine _Black_," (Bellacine went slightly pale and glared at Lavender) "but you can you back where you came from. In fact, why don't you? No one wants you here, so why don't you just go back with all the other communists?"

Bellacine surpassed white and turned a pale shade of grey. Her voice dead quiet, she snapped, "And what the hell do you mean by that?" The magic and the power were roaring inside her- how dare she?- and the other voice that she knew all too well, from Durmstrang and from home- only a mudblood, she's not worth anything-

_Just say it, she is a mudblood, she is, and what __did she say__ to you, say it, go on, say it!_

"Inside! Inside, now!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "Put your wand away, Miss Black, or I'll take points from Gryffindor! Yes, from my own house, you heard right. Now go on, get inside!"

The class filed in, most of them glaring at Bellacine. Behind her, she heard Hermione take a deep breath.

"You were right."

As the bell rang, Professor McGonagall called out to her class. "One moment, please. As you're all in my house, you should hand in Hogsmeade permission slips for Hogsmeade to me before Halloween. No form, no visiting the village, so don't forget!"

Neville looked as though he'd forgotten something. (Not an unusual look for him.) "Please, Professor, I- I think I've lost-"

"Your grandmother owled yours directly to me, Longbottom. She seemed to think it was safer. Well, that's all, you may leave now."

"Ask her now, Harry," hissed Ron and Bellacine.

"Oh for goodne-"

"Go on, Harry," prompted Bellacine.

After the rest of the class vanished, he approached Professor McGonagall's desk.

"Potter?"

"Professor, my aunt and uncle, er-" he mumbled. She couldn't quite understand what was being said, but she nodded him on. Finally, he turned away, miserable.

"She said no."

* * *

There was nothing they could do. Ron swore violently, greatly annoying Hermione, who assumed an all-for-the-best expression that made Harry wince.

"It's all right, Harry, I can't go either."

Hermione dropped her bag with an overly loud thud. "What? Why not, Bella- oh, if this is about- I mean-"

"It's not that, it's the form," said Bellacine.

"What, didn't your parents sign it?" Ron asked.

"No, Ron." She strode ahead of their group, long black hair streaming out behind her.

"But why didn't your parents-"

"They're dead, Ron. Dead." Behind her, she heard Harry, Ron and Hermione freeze. Bellacine turned to look at them.

"I'm- we're really sorry," began Hermione. "We had no idea."

Bellacine shrugged. "Most people don't."

"Wh-" started Ron, suddenly stopping mid-word.

"What? Who? When? Lord Voldemort, Ron. That's all you or I or almost anyone else knows- or needs to know. Lord Voldemort and Lord Voldemort alone."

It was Ron's turn to drop his book bag.

"What is it now?"

"You- you said his name," Ron said incredulously.

"Eh- yes. Brilliant."

"But- but you just say it?" stammered Ron. "You and Harry- you both just say it, like it's any other name-"

"Welcome to my club," muttered Harry.

"I don't think so. This is my club here. October of '81 against July and August of 1980. My club, chronological order. You just beat me here."

Hermione sighed impatiently. "Does anyone realize how completely pointless this is?"

"What, can't you put up with this any longer?" Bellacine asked. "Really, Hermione, life is random. Random random random random, and, occasionally, even more random. I'm only preparing you for the real world here." Finally, they all headed off to lunch. Bellacine didn't bother to point out that she had very neatly shied away from telling them anything of any importance. Then again, that was the point.

Beware the power of utter randomness. **[This would be my slogan if it wasn't 'Ford, you're turning into an infinite number of penguins. Stop it.' Actually, that's not my slogan either. Who cares?**

* * *

Halloween morning dawned cold and clear. All of Gryffindor headed down to breakfast, Ron and Hermione very excited when they weren't looking desperately sorry for Harry and Bellacine.

"We'll bring you loads of sweets from Honeydukes," promised Ron.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were almost out the door when Harry and Bellacine passed. "Why aren't you coming, Potter? Scared to pass the dementors?"

"Just ignore him, Harry, it's all you can do that helps any."

"Well, it doesn't! He just keeps on- I've put up with him for three years worth-" he said angrily.

"I've dealt with him for about ten years before you even knew who he was. Once again, Harry, this is my club here."

"Harry, hey, Harry!" Almost back to Gryffindor Tower, they came across Colin Creevey. "Hey, Harry, come sit with us!"

"Er- no thanks, Colin, I've got…uh…homework to do. We're going to the library now to write our vampire essays for Professor Lupin." They had absolutely no intention of doing any homework, of course, but Colin didn't need to know that.

From behind him, Bellacine whispered, "Quick, run for it before we're trapped!"

They ducked out and headed to the library, but halfway there they changed course. The next person they saw was Filch in a very bad mood, possibly due to the horror of the Weasley twins set loose on Zonko's Joke Shop.

"What are you two doing here?" he snarled suspiciously. "Why aren't you off in Hogsmeade with the rest of your nasty little friends, buying Dungbombs…Stink Pellets…Belch Powder…" Filch looked slightly- oh, fine, _really_- mad. "Go back to your common room where you belong! Go on, get!"

Bellacine and Harry still didn't go back; they wandered vaguely until Bellacine, who knew the school much less well than Harry, was completely lost. Just then, a voice:

"Harry?"

Harry, who was in front of her, doubled back, and they saw Professor Lupin peering around his office door. **[A/N: Why does he remind me so much of Atticus Finch??**

"What are you doing?" asked Lupin. They shrugged. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

Harry shrugged again, but Bellacine responded, "Hogsmeade."

Lupin watched them both for a moment. "Ah. Yes. Why don't you come in? I've just taken in a delivery of a grindylow for our next lesson."

_Did __that first year_ Bellacine thought cynically.

"Water demon," explained Lupin. "We shouldn't have much difficulty with him, not after that boggart, at any rate."

_Not much difficulty? Does anyone even realize how easy this is?_

In the corner, the grindylow buried itself in a tangle of gillyweed.

"Cup of tea?" asked Lupin, searching for his kettle. He located it under a stack of paper. "I was just thinking of making one myself."

"All right," Harry mumbled. Bellacine still watched the grindylow.

"Sit," said Lupin, tapping the kettle with his wand. "I only have teabags, I'm afraid, but I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves?" He smiled, taking the lid off a dusty tin and extracting two teabags.

"How did you kn-"

"Professor McGonagall told me," said Lupin, setting out two chipped mugs for Bellacine and Harry. Bellacine almost looked around for a samovar. "You're not worried, are you?"

"No," said Harry. Bellacine was still watching the grindylow; apparently she hadn't noticed Lupin pour the tea. Harry set his cup down heavily and she turned around. "Well, yes. You know that day we fought the boggart?"

"Yes…." said Lupin slowly.

"Why didn't you let me fight it?"

_What do you expect? Think about it! The Dark Lord?! __Voldemort, maybe?_

Apparently Lupin thought the same as Bellacine. "I would have thought that was obvious, Harry."

_Yes! Of course it is!_

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Well," said Lupin, "I assumed the boggart would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort."

Bellacine considered making a joke about the Allegory of the Cave, then decided no one would have any idea what she was saying. **[A/N: shapes and forms... Plato's _Republic_.**

"Clearly I was wrong, but I didn't think it a very good idea to have Lord Voldemort materialize in the middle of the staffroom," he continued.

"I didn't think of Voldemort, I- I remembered those dementors-" Harry and Lupin both glanced sidelong at Bellacine, who gave up on the conversation soon after the _Republic_ moment.

"What? What's going on?" she asked.

Then Snape came in, carrying a smoking goblet. He stopped dead at the sight of Professor Lupin, Harry, and Bellacine, probably the three people he hated most.

"Ah, Severus," said Lupin. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"

Snape set the goblet down heavily. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."

"Yes, yes, I will."

"I made an entire cauldronful, if you need more."

"I probably should take some again tomorrow, Severus. Thanks very much."

Snape tried to feign a smile, but there was a cold glint in his eye that Bellacine didn't like very much. He left.

"What-?" began Harry.

"Professor Snape has been making a potion for me. It's rather complex, not that many wizards are up to making it." Lupin sighed. "Pity sugar makes it useless."

_It's not that hard to make, _she thought,then frowned. Where had that thought come from? She'd seen the same potion before, she was sure of it.

Lupin drained the cup. "Disgusting."

The empty goblet was still smoking.

* * *

Ron and Hermione returned late that afternoon, pink with cold and hyper with an extreme sugar high. From the sound of things, they'd been everywhere. Zonko's Joke Shop, Dervish and Banges, the post office, Honeydukes, and the Shrieking Shack. They poured sweets from Honeydukes down on the common room table where Harry and Bellacine sat.

Then Harry told the others about the potion.

"Lupin drank it? Is he insane?" gasped Ron. "Snape probably was trying to poison him!"

Hermione checked her watch. "We should go down, you know, the feast starts in five minutes." They climbed out the portrait hole, still discussing Snape.

"Yes, but would he be stupid enough to do it in front of witnesses? Harry and I were there, if Lupin dies or something…."

The Great Hall had been decorated with black and orange streamers that writhed in the air like snakes. Hundred of giant pumpkins (supplied by Hagrid and carved magically by Flitwick) lined the walls. Even Ron and Hermione, who had most likely eaten more candy than the average person consumes in six months, managed second helpings of everything.

After the feast, they set back out to Gryffindor Tower, stuffed but happy. Bellacine lagged behind when she spotted Peeves dousing a first-year Hufflepuff, Rachel Strolle, in magenta-colored indelible ink. When she finally wove through the crowds to the Fat Lady's corridor, silence met her. Perfect Prefect Percy had just parted the crowd in a very Moses-like way.

"Excuse me," said a voice behind her. It was Professor Dumbledore. Then Percy stepped to the side.

Bellacine gasped. The portrait of the Fat Lady was slashed almost beyond recognition. "-very nasty temper, that Sirius Black-" said Peeves gleefully.

_It's all over_ she thought,, as cacophony broke out.

* * *

A/N: Aren't you happy I actually managed to update again? See the review button? Click on button. Type. Good people. If you were wondering what N.Black.C. is, I was at camp last summer and we needed a team name. Everyone's first name either started with N, B, or C. And we needed a color in there. So we were N.Black.C. 


	5. Chapter 5 Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

_A/N: Hi! I'm not ignoring all you awesome people who review this, the 'reply' button has vanished for some uncomprehensible reason. (MAGIC!! No. Pity.) Anyway, the 'it's all over' line was jsut my little joke on 'it's all over when the Fat Lady sings.' Except life isn't Wagner. Too bad. Her parents are Regulus and a random person who is Lucius's little sister, invented by yours truly, in answer to bigteddy. (bigteddy? that is your name, right?)_

_Ok, later on in this, there's a bit of speaking Russian, I've typed that in English but underlined it because I really doubt any of you speak Russian. Neither do I, I just act like I do. Ah, the wonders of knowing yes, no, thank you, and hi. And comrade. In any flashback bit, I gave all the Durmstrang people Russian-y names. Do not laugh at the names. I repeat: do not._

_

* * *

_

To Mr. Dobby, who is amazing even if he isn't James Bond.

* * *

Dumbledore immediately sent them all down to the Great Hall; Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins joined them in another ten minutes. The students from other houses had no idea what was going on. 

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore announced while McGonagall and Flitwick closed the giant doors. "I'm afraid that for your own safety, you'll all have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over all the entrances. I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge" -Percy swelled importantly- "and any disturbance should be reported to me. Send word with one of the ghosts." About to leave the hall, he paused and flicked his wand. The house tables flew to the walls and hundreds of purple sleeping bags appeared.

_Purple? _

The Gryffindors began to excitedly explain the night's events. Bellacine watched Ron, Harry and Hermione drag sleeping bags into a corner. She moved to join them, but Neville brought his bag over close to where they lay.

_So much for that, genius. _

All around the Great Hall, people were asking, "How did he get in?" Neville's face betrayed his own theory. Suddenly she felt very nervous. Would anyone ever figure out how Sirius Black had entered the castle? And if they didn't, who would they choose as a scapegoat?

Her?

The lights went out, and Bellacine lay in silence watching the constellations revolve….How many answers lay there in the night sky? She didn't believe the astrology crap Trelawney gave them, but the centaurs knew things no human knew because they watched and observed. How much of the future and the past lay shining in the here and the now?

Bellacine heard voices. It was Dumbledore, Perfect Prefect Percy, and Snape.

"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" asked Snape's voice.

"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next," replied Dumbledore's voice.

"You remember the conversation he had, Headmaster, just before the- ah- start of term?"

"Yes, I do, Severus," said Dumbledore with a hint of warning in his voice.

"It seems- almost impossible- that Black could have entered the castle without inside help. I did express my concern when you appointed-"

"Severus."

"And with- Headmaster, you must acknowledge-"

"Severus, please. This is quite enough. Do you really think they would be here if I had not considered this? Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go down to the dementors. I said I would inform them when our search of the castle was complete."

Percy sounded confused. "Didn't they want to help, Professor?"

"Oh, they did, Percival, But I'm afraid no dementors will so much as cross the shadow of the threshold of this castle while I am Headmaster here," Dumbledore said coolly, and left the Hall.

She drifted into sleep, dark sleep without dreams.

* * *

Hogwarts talked of nothing but Sirius Black for a few days, so much that Bellacine considered legally changing her surname. Then again, anything she could feasibly change it to had much of the same. 

The theories about Black's entrance became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff in their year, spent much of the next week in Herbology adamantly warning everyone that Black could turn into a flowered shrub at will. (Bellacine couldn't quite imagine why anyone would want to be a flowered shrub, but she supposed everyone was entitled to their own opinion.) In fact, she wondered if Sirius Black might be an Animagus, as it was probably the simplest way to sneak in without anyone noticing. Who knew?

The Fat Lady had been removed from the wall, her portrait replaced with Sir Cadogan. He was a very uncoordinated, overenthusiastic knight who spent a great deal of his time challenging passerby to duels. Otherwise, he would make up long passwords that no one could remember.

"Why'd we get stuck with him? He's insane," complained Seamus to P.P. Percy one day.

"No one else wanted the job," said Percy. "All afraid of what happened to the Fat Lady."

"Oh, come on. It's a picture. Why couldn't we get a nice little bowl of fruit or something? Those don't scream, and they aren't crazy," Seamus shot back.

Annoying portraits were the least of Bellacine's worries. She could tell that the teachers were finding excuses to walk alongside Harry ion the corridors. So was Percy, like an extremely pompous guard dog.

She thought she was being followed, too. Every so often she would turn a corner and hear footsteps behind her. She would look over her shoulder, and see a shadow disappearing around the corner. Bellacine let it go. Going to Dumbledore would only arouse the suspicion of her shadow. Perhaps Dumbledore had arranged it himself in the first place. In time, she came to know the passages of Hogwarts as well as Fred and George Weasley, who possessed an uncanny ability to, pop up anywhere.

Professor McGonagall also tried to keep Harry from playing in the next Quidditch match, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Finally, Madam Hooch agreed to oversee the practices. Bellacine would have gone out to watch but she thought it might make her follower suspicious. Besides, she avoided Quidditch now.

The weather steadily worsened all week. Then, the night before the Quidditch match, Harry came into the common room looking as stormy as the night sky outside.

"We're not playing Slytherin. Flint told Wood Malfoy's arm is still injured, so we're playing Hufflepuff instead," Harry announced furiously.

"Oh, Wood must've loved that." Bellacine rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. He went completely mental. And all because Malfoy keeps faking it."

She glared at nothing in particular for a few moments. "Can't we drug him or something? Use Veritaserum? He really does deserve it."

"What's Ver- what's-it-um?" asked Ron confusedly.

Hermione sighed. "Truth serum, Ron. Truth drugs. And no, Bella, we can't drug him. I think that's illegal."

"Yes, it is so legal! I took Law and Government last year. So long as more than one person knows about it, it's perfectly legal," said Bellacine.

"Umm…those are _your _laws," said Hermione.

"Oh. Right. Well, it was a nice fantasy to entertain for a while." Bellacine sighed as she wished something mildly entertaining would happen. She had absolutely no wish to do her Potions homework. Hermione glared at her as she stood to leave their table.

Resigned, she sat down with a sigh and took out a fresh roll of parchment.

* * *

On Friday, the storms reached such a pinnacle that extra torches were lit, for outside the windows, the sky was as dark as night. Rain fell in curtains, like a great veil hanging from the sky, blowing in the wind. 

Bellacine, Ron, and Hermione were seated in Defense Against the Dark Arts by the time the bell rang, but Harry had been held back by a desperate Oliver Wood, who was trying more tactics into his Seeker before the weekend's match. The bell rang- still no Harry- and Snape swept in, glaring like the devil himself. Neville turned pale.

_What's he doing here? And where's Lupin? _

Finally, ten minutes after the late bell, Harry rushed in. "Sorry, Professor Lupin, I-" He stopped dead when he saw Snape sitting at Lupin's desk.

"You're ten minutes late, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor."

Unfazed, Harry replied, "Where's Professor Lupin? Why are you here?"

"Professor Lupin is…ill. He is unable to teach today. Now sit down, Potter, or it'll be fifty points from Gryffindor, and be grateful it isn't more."

Harry glared stubbornly at Snape, but he sat down all the same. Snape picked up the textbook lying open before him. "Today we will be covering…oh, yes. Werewolves"

"Please, Professor," said Hermione, "we've aren't supposed to be doing those yet, we're due to start hinkypunks."

"Silence!" roared Snape. "Now, who can tell me the main distinctions between an ordinary wolf and a werewolf?" The class remained unusually still, except for Hermione and Bellacine, whose hands shot into the air at once. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between-"

"We told you," Parvati spoke up. Bellacine had to admire her nerve. "We haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on-"

"SILENCE!" Snape bellowed. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who couldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one-"

"Please, sir," said Hermione, her hand still in the air. "The werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf is-"

"Miss Granger, shut up!"

In a moment of extreme madness (it did run in the family), Bellacine picked up where Hermione left off. "The pupils-"

"MISS BLACK! That is the second time both of you have spoken out of turn today! Ten points more from Gryffindor for both being insufferable know-it-alls!"

Hermione went pink and stared at the floor with tears in her eyes, as Bellacine's right hand went inside her pocket. The rest of the class glared at Snape. It was a sign of how much they all hated him. Everyone called Hermione a know-it-all at least once a week, and most of them hated Bellacine. Ron, who called the both of them know-it-alls every half hour, said, "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?" The class gasped or winced in unison.

Professor Snape advanced on Ron, who was leaning back as far as possible in his chair. "Detention, Weasley," said the teacher. "And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach again, you will be very sorry indeed."

Bellacine jumped to her feet; she'd had enough. "You- you'll give us detention for telling you the truth?"

"Well, I'm sorry, Miss Black, but this isn't your old school. In this room, I am in charge, and I say you are nothing but a nasty little brat who thinks-"

The bell rang. Snape continued glaring at her for a moment, before facing the entire class. "Homework- two rolls of parchment on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves, due in on Monday. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention. Class dismissed."

"Oh, thank god," Bellacine muttered.

Ron caught up with them before they were even halfway down the corridor. "Oh, I hate him," he panted. "Do you know what that f-"

"Ron!" Hermione shot him a very even-if-I-agree-with-you-I-don't-ever-want-to-hear-you-start-to-say-that-word-ever-again sort of a look.

"Anyway, did you hear him? I've got to scrub out all the bedpans in the hospital wing! Without magic!"

"I wonder what Snape's got against Professor Lupin?" Hermione said pensively. "You can just tell Snape hates him."

"Yes…I wonder why," whispered Bellacine. She thought there was something going on here. The top three people on Snape's 'hate list' at Hogwarts were Harry, herself, and Professor Lupin. So what was Snape planning? He didn't even know Defense Against the Dark Arts that well, apparently. Yet when Lupin was ill (_a likely story_, she thought, _it's probably poison_.) Snape stepped in. And she doubted they were meant to cover werewolves. Lupin had said they'd e doing hinkypunks next. But of all things…why werewolves? How much did Snape know? How much had Dumbledore told the teachers about why exactly she left Durmstrang?

Or did this only concern Lupin? _It must, _she decided.

"So why couldn't Black have hidden in Snape's office, eh? He could have finished him off for us." Ron glanced around Hermione at Bellacine. "Oh- sorry, Bella, I didn't mean-"

"Forget it. It's fine. Just because he's some- some mass murderer it doesn't mean anything about me," Bellacine said slowly.

The four of them walked into the Great Hall together, and although Neville still avoided her like the plague, and no one else would even talk to her, she found that tonight she didn't mind so very much.

* * *

She shot awake early the next morning, feeling sick to her stomach. Lightning flashed across the pre-dawn sky, as the wind blew well past gale force. 

_Glad I'm not flying today, _she thought, then winced. That was it. Quidditch against Hufflepuff. Bellacine lay in bed for what seemed like hours, hoping against hope that the match would be canceled. But Quidditch wasn't canceled for trivialities like thunderstorms- year before last, she'd played in a blizzard. Finally she rolled out of bed, dressed, and headed down to breakfast.

Harry was already seated at the Gryffindor table, steadily (though nervously) working his way through a bowl of porridge. She sat down beside him; he glanced at her and grinned weakly.

"What do you play? On the team?"

"Seeker," said Harry through a mouthful of oatmeal.

Bellacine nodded vaguely, her mind thousands of miles away. So he played Seeker as well…and the weather was terrible too, just like then…here Harry sat, watching her expectantly, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. There was no need to worry him, frighten him- Professor Trelawney took care of that-

His teacup. Bellacine doubted it had been a Grim, but there was most definitely something there. And she had thought it appeared to be a wolf.

Could that be what Snape meant? A warning? It wasn't as if she couldn't handle it on her own…straight to Dumbledore if there was something wrong, and in the meantime she had an old score to settle if the problem was quite what she thought it to be. She had only forgotten for long enough, long enough for worst to come to worst, just like it did.

_Don't go outside. Why not? Give us an explanation, don't just give a meaningless order and expect it followed through with. Tell us what the danger is. Fine. Don't, then, and now someone's dead because of it Maybe if you gave us a reason, maybe there'd be one still alive. But you can't blame everyone else, _she told herself harshly. _Your idea, you told them it was just a stupid rule, rules are for breaking. And now he's dead. Now he's dead and nothing will ever bring him back. You're just trying to remove fault from yourself because you don't want to face reality. Well, face it. He's dead. _

_And it was all your fault. _

"Er- Bella? Re you okay?" Ron and Hermione had joined them at the table. Bellacine gave a little jump, she hadn't noticed anyone else show up. Nor had she noticed that her eyes were slightly wet.

"I'm fine. Just…tired, is all." This seemed to be acceptable; Ron and Hermione sat down next to them. After only a few minutes, Harry left with the rest of the Quidditch team.

Eventually they too left for the playing field, all wearing rain ponchos. Hermione had the foresight to bring along an umbrella, unfortunately the foresight didn't realize the wind would blow out the umbrella, as it soon did. Bellacine gave up, went back inside for a bed sheet, and Transfigured it into a tarpaulin, which they held over their heads as they looked for a seat.

They climbed up the stands and finally found a seat, draping the tarp over the bench and up to cover their heads. Bellacine just barely heard the sound of a whistle, and could hardly see seven yellow- and seven red- robed figures through the driving rain. Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins' friend, was doing the commentary, but she couldn't hear a word he said.

Oliver Wood apparently called for time-out as the teams sank to the ground. Hermione left Bellacine and Ron and raced across the field to where Harry was exasperatedly waving his glasses. The sky grew steadily darker, as though it was nighttime-

**[flashback, all you genius readers of this thing.**

_"Hey- Krum-" __Krum turned toward her as she hit a Bludger his way; he dodged and tailed Anton, one of the Chasers, as he swooped after the Quaffle. Anya hit the other Bludger his way and he gave up searching for the Snitch on his own; he began to mark Ilya instead. Ilya swooped to the ground at breakneck speed- could he see that glint of gold?-and rocketed up. _

_She watched the night sky darken steadily- although it was the end of June, they had been outside long enough for the sun to almost completely disappear. It was a cloudy night, too, so the darkness was almost complete. At the far end of the field, Isay blocked Anton's shot at the goalpost. _

_"How much longer will we be out here? You know Karkaroff said no one was supposed to go outside tonight!" he called up the field. _

_"You worry too much! Karkaroff never has any good reason for whatever he does- and since you wanted to know, as soon as Ilya gets the Snitch, it's over. Have you ever paid any attention to Quidditch before this?" Bellacine replied. _

_Krum glanced at her, a frown of annoyance flashing across his face. "What are you thinking? That's my job." Anton laughed at him. _

_"Afraid you'll lose your spot on the team? To who- Nevsky is on a better team than you'll ever be!" If only because Krum's team never had any good Chasers. _

_"What about Bella? She's better than almost any of us," said Anya. _

_"Almost better. Note the use of the word 'almost,'" she replied jokingly. From the corner of her eye she saw Ilya streak down the field- Krum fell rapidly behind- he was closing on the Snitch, only a few more meters- _

_A flash of light, like magical lightning- Ilya fell from his broom, plummeting to the earth like a meteor- clouds swooped back from the moon, a full moon, and suddenly the field was covered in light, light that illuminated what she never wanted to see. _

_"Go!" she screamed, English coming faster, easier now than Russian or any other language- "Go! Get Professor Mueller, get van Rijn, get somebody! Get Karkaroff!" _

_Krum understood her, and so did Anya. They rocketed towards the castle, and Bellacine watched the others follow them. They thought she was behind them , but instead she pelted towards the ground, crashing so hard it hurt, but nothing could hurt as much as what she saw, illuminated in the strange light of the midnight sun and the full moon- _

_Ilya lay there on the ground, bleeding. Above him stood a wolf. And she knew it was Fenrir Greyback. Fenrir Greyback, watching Ilya bleed to death, standing above him, not caring. Fury welled up deep inside her. _

_"Avada Kedavra!" she screamed to the night. "Avada K-" _

_He dodged the curses like they were Bludgers and leapt straight for her- she changed shape, form and he couldn't hurt her now- he snarled and for some reason dashed away from them- she was human again- _

_"Ilya!" The cry escaped her like a strangled scream, he could not die, he couldn't- _

_"Please, Bella, it hurts…oh god, it hurts, please, Bella, kill me, let it stop…it hurts…oh god…." His voice was tiny and faint, too faint. _

_"Ilya, you're not going to die! Ilya, Ilya, you're fine, you'll live, just stand up- I think your leg might be broken, it looks that way, but you can still walk- you're not going to die…." _

_"I am going to die, Bella…I'm dying….." __His voice was almost gone, fainter than spider silk. _

_"No! Ilya, you're going to live! You've got to live!" _

_"No, Bella, I won't make it…you've got to live for me. You still have a chance now…I'm already almost gone.__" He sounded so calm, talking about his own death like it was only a few inches away, not so many years. "Live, whatever it takes, just live….Remember me." _

_And she was in two places at once, on two Quidditch fields at the same time, she could see both Ilya dying and feel an eerie stillness that was no part of that scene…the dementors. _

_Bellacine felt for Ilya's hand, held it, clenching it; feeling his wrist for a pulse…it was still there, though not for long- if she could just keep counting it would keep going:_

_Odin, dva, tri, chetyre.** [1,2,3,4 in Russian**_

_Odin, dva, tri, chetyre. _

_Odin, dva, tri- _

_He was gone, dead on the ground- Harry too, falling from his broom- Ilya, cold as ice- _

_"ILYA!" _

Harry hit the ground.

_No_, she thought in panic, _he can't be here…Harry can't die too….There's a werewolf here. Somewhere, there's a werewolf. _The realization was sudden and painful , as she tried not to imagine everything happening all over again, only this time someone else would end up dead.

About to glance up, she realized who it was. Before any rational thought, she knew who it must be. But slowly, ever so slowly, she allowed the blockade of her mind to fade out like a scene from a movie and one single, terrible answer to become clear. How had she not seen it all along? It was obvious, too obvious to miss…'What kind of third-year class wouldn't recognize a werewolf when they saw one?'…of course, how could she have missed it? She was filled with something greater, worse, deeper than fury, terror, guilt. She had trusted him. She had ignored everything that pointed her towards the truth. Now she knew better. Now she understood.

It was Lupin.

* * *

A/N: dun dun dunnnhh... 


	6. Chapter 6 History Repeats Itself

_A/N: Wow, I'm actually managing to update this somewhat frequently...unfortuantely, serving a volleyball over the net is STILL an illusion in my world. Yet again, the lovely little "reply" button on reviews has vanished and thus I cannot reply to any of you...still, thanks, you rock._

_Did you REALLY think I would tell you if she 'reveals Remus's secret?' Maybe she'll get a picket sign that says LUPIN IS A WEREWOLF. Or maybe she won't. Who knows?_

_On the subject of canon (not that I was on it in the first place), this will obviously be changed slightly from the real HP books, mostly in the view of Death Eaters and so on. Basically I meant there won't be any really bizarre stuff happening, i.e. Harry randomly dying in GoF or slash. (On that note, I will do this all the way thru DH.)_

_Oh, the people in the dedications aren't the HP Marrauders, they're real life people with odd nicknames._

* * *

_To Mr. Wormtail...Charlie is back! _

* * *

"Is he alive?" she urgently whispered to Hermione. Sick with fright, she could barely walk, and was the last to reach the hospital wing. By the time Bellacine had arrived, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Ron, and Hermione were gathered around Harry's bed.

"Didn't even break his glasses," Alicia Spinnet murmured, wiping mud off her face. Everyone- especially the Quidditch team- was soaked and covered in mud. "I thought he was dead for sure."

Jaw clenched, Bellacine repeated, "Is he alive?" He was dead, she knew it, it was too late, Lupin had-

"Harry?"

He slowly opened his eyes.

"Harry," said Fred, grinning shakily under the coating of grime on his face. "How're you feeling?"

"What happened?" asked Harry, sitting up so rapidly that Katie Bell gasped. "Did we win?" No one answered. Bellacine glanced around at the others' faces- she had missed the end of the game and the catching of the Snitch. "We didn't- lose?" Harry searched their faces, the smile slowly fading from his face, until George nodded.

_He didn't have time to catch the Snitch….He didn't have time either…none of them did….oh, god, Ilya…._

"What?"

"It's- nothing, Hermione." Bellacine hadn't realized she'd said anything aloud.

Hermione didn't seem satisfied; she grabbed Bellacine's arm and dragged her into a corner. "I want to know what's going on. You were shouting in- Russian, was it?"

Bellacine nodded mutely.

"And then you started screaming in English- get help, something about get help- and then, after all this, then Harry fell off his broom. It was like- it was like you knew what was going to happen before it actually did happen- and no one can do that unless they- unless they already know and you couldn't have known unless you were-"

Suddenly she understood precisely what Hermione was trying to articulate. "I didn't know. How could I have known? But I should have guessed…."

"Guessed what?"

Bellacine shook her head, then asked Hermione if she'd done their Defense Against the Dark Arts essay yet.

"No, not yet. Why? I'm not letting you copy off me-"

"Forget it." Just as she spoke, Hermione spoke also, saying, "What's going on? What do you know that you're not telling me-?"

"Hermione…oh, god…you don't know anything. Oh, you think you do," she added in response to the outraged expression on Hermione's face. "You know what we need to know for school and you also know everything else that applies to the lesson, but you don't actually know anything about the real world.

"Hermione, you've got this entire world before you. Me?" She laughed bitterly. "I'm a Black . They see me and they look at me and they think that's the color of my heart and my soul…What a reversal this is! Me pureblood and you- well- muggleborn and yet it's you who has it all for the taking.

"I can tell what you're thinking right now…but them that call you mudblood is just the Malfoys and their crowd, it's not the regular people. I'm not that lucky. Them that thinks Black's synonymous with murderer- and I don't deny it- it's the regular people. Remember Ron at first? Remember the Sorting?

Bellacine opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Hermione's eyes were already bloodshot; now she looked ready to burst into tears.

Well, hopefully that would keep her busy…keep her from asking again about Ilya…keep her from asking questions Bellacine did not want asked.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing until late Sunday night. He wasn't hurt in the slightest, but something about Harry made Bellacine think he spent so very much time in the hospital wing that Madam Pomfrey would do all she could to keep him there out of harm's way. 

Draco celebrated Gryffindor's defeat by finally taking off his bandages; he spent the entire weekend (and then some) performing spirited imitations of Harry falling off a broom.

All in all, she had never had a worse weekend at Hogwarts. Then Bellacine realized with a jolt that next day was Defense Against the Dark Arts. It would be awful either way- she hadn't done the essay for Snape and she really didn't want to be in the same room as a werewolf.

There was, unfortunately, no stopping time. Monday afternoon came, and it wasn't pretty. Ron threw a crocodile heart at Draco in the middle of Potions, causing Snape to happily subtract fifty points from Gryffindor. As they neared Lupin's classroom, Hermione checked around the door.

"It's fine, it's Lupin."

_Fine?__FINE?__ What kind of distorted illusion of FINE do you have?!_

Ron sighed. "Good. If it was Snape again I was skiving off."

_I'd actually be _happy _if it was Snape again._

The rest of the class began to file in, complaining loudly. –"Two rolls of parchment"-"We don't know anything about werewolves"-

_Other than that there's one right in front of you, you mean to say?_

"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" asked Lupin. He looked slightly nervous. Bellacine allowed herself a small, malicious smile.

"We tried-"

"He wouldn't listen-"

"Two _rolls _of parchment!"

"Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."

"Oh no," said Hermione, looking distressed. "I've already done it!" And of course that was causer for a heart attack in the world of Hermione Granger.

At the bell, the class gathered up their things and prepared to leave. Ron and Hermione were long gone by the time Bellacine got out the door, but Harry was-

"Wait a moment, Harry," said Lupin. "I'd like a word with you."

_Die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die-_

She slipped around the door to the corridor wall behind it and leaned against the wall. She wanted to know what Lupin wanted with Harry.

"I heard about the match," said Lupin's voice. "Is there any chance of fixing your broomstick?"

"No," Harry said. "The tree smashed it to bits."

Lui9n sighed. "The Whomping Willow was planted the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get close enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would stand a chance."

"Did you hear about the dementors too?" asked Harry, sounding as if he would rather not have brought it up.

"Yes I did. I don't think any of us have ever seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time…furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds….I suppose they were the reason you fell?"

"Yes." He paused; spoke again. "Why, though? Why do they affect me like that? Is it because I'm-"

"It has nothing to do with weakness, Harry. They affect you so strongly because there are horrors in your past that most others don't have."

Harry hesitated momentarily. "Professor- Bella- Bellacine Black- they really affect her, don't they?" Bellacine started to beam Harry angry looks through the classroom wall.

There was a moment's pause, then Lupin spoke. "Look, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but….Lord Voldemort murdered her mum. Her father died before she was even born. A friend of hers at Durmstrang was murdered last summer. I don't know what she hears, but whatever it is...it must be bad. Now don't talk to her about this, Harry, I'm not exactly supposed to tell you about this. She'll talk plenty when she's ready."

_Stupid half-breed, trying to know what I'm going to do…._Bellacine had heard enough. She slipped away silently, waiting at the far end of the hallway for Harry to catch up.

"Lupin's going to teach me…dementors," he panted, with an odd look on his face. Hopefully he wouldn't bring up anything Lupin had just said.

She doubted it.

"Oh- eh- that's great, Harry." _No, actually it isn't. _"When did he say he could start?"

"Not till after the holidays. But there's no more Quidditch with Gryffindor until next term anyway, so it doesn't really matter."

"Oh…right…that's nice." Apparently she would be spending a lot of next term hiding behind classroom doors. She must've had a strange look on her face, because Harry asked her if she was all right.

"I'm perfectly fine, Harry." _Do. Not. Say. __Anything.__About.__ What. __You.__ Just. __Heard.__ Or I will find some nice, very painful way to torture you- wait, maybe not painful, but I will hum every single annoying song that I know._

"Are you sure?"

_We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine-_

"Yeah, I'm fine."

_So long and thanks for all __the fish_

_So sad that it should come to this_

_We tried to warn you all, but-_

_\_"What?"

"Oh…um, nothing. Sorry. What were we saying? Wait. Nevermind. What were we saying before we started saying whatever it was that we were saying?"

"I never know."

"Ah…right, then. New subject…eh…d'you think Scabbers is trying to take over the world and cut out all our brains so he can find the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything?"

Harry stared at Bellacine for a few moments, looking totally blank. "What's wrong with you?"

"A lot of things. Don't tell me you've never heard of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_?"

He shook his head.

"_The Restaurant at the End of the Universe_? Or any subsequent books? Or the radio show? Or the kind of creepy TV episodes the BBC did?"

He shook his head again. "No, seriously, are you sure you're okay?"

"Now, really, Harry. You've got to stay calm. Just stay calm, Harry. Don't panic."

* * *

Ravenclaw completely flattened Hufflepuff in that November's match, meaning Gryffindor still had a shot at the Quidditch Cup. Wood had more practices for his team than ever. 

Two weeks before the end of term, the sky faded to a brilliant white, and it began to snow. Temperatures plummeted below freezing; Bellacine dug out her winter coat form the bottom of her trunk. It was warmer than Russia, at least.

At Hogwarts, the students prepared for Christmas. Flitwick decorated his classroom with tiny, fluttering fairy lights that turned out to be real fairies. Ron, Hermione, and Bellacine all decided to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas- Ron and Hermione for Harry's sake, Bellacine because she didn't particularly feel like going back to Malfoy Manor with Draco.

To everyone's delight except Bellacine and Harry, the very last weekend before school let out for the holidays was a Hogsmeade weekend. Resigned to staying behind again, Bellacine and Harry waved goodbye to Ron and Hermione at the front doors and headed up the marble staircase together. A snowstorm beginning the previous night was still in action, the grounds blanketed in a flood of white.

"Psst- Harry! Bella!"

They turned- hiding behind an ugly old statue of a one-eyed witch were-

"Fred? George? Why aren't you in Hogsmeade?" Bellacine asked.

George grinned. "We've come to give you a bit of Christmas cheer before we go. C'mon, in here." He motioned them towards an empty classroom.

Fred slowly closed the door, then turned to grin at them as well. "Happy Christmas, Harry, Bella." He whipped out a piece of old parchment, laying it down gently on a table as though it were sacred.

Bellacine cocked an eyebrow. She hadn't quite forgotten the joke lemon drop Fred had given her. "Not laughing, Fred. What is that?"

"This, my friends, is the secret of our success." George patted the old paper fondly.

"It's a wrench, giving it to you," said Fred, "but last night we decided your need is greater than ours. Anyway, we know it by heart now. We bequeath it to you."

Bellacine still felt skeptical. "Bequeath? You're not dead yet, Fred."

"So what do we need with a bit of old parchment anyway?" said Harry.

"A bit of old parchment! Explain, George," said Fred, as though Harry had mortally offended him.

"Well, back in our first year…when we were young, carefree, and innocent-"

Bellacine snorted. "I doubt it."

"Well, more innocent than we are now, anyway. So we got into a spot of bother with Filch."

"We set off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason-"

"Anyway, he hauled us off to his office to threaten us with the usual-"

"-detention-"

"-disembowelment-"

"-and we couldn't help but notice a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous-"

"Somehow I can guess what's coming," remarked Bellacine.

"Yes, well, what would you have done? Anyway, George caused a diversion by setting off another Dungbomb and I grabbed- this."

"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," said George. "We don't reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't've confiscated it."

"And you know how to work it?"

"Oh yes," Fred smirked. "This little beauty has taught us more than all the teachers in the school."

"You're winding us up," said Harry.

"Are we now?" George took out his wand, and, holding its tip to the parchment, whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

And from that point, thin green lines began to spread like spilled ink, connecting at corners, forming arcs, fanning into every area of the map. Across the top, great words in fancy green script proclaimed:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_purveyors of Aides to Magical Mischief-Makers_

_rre proud to present_

**The Marauders' Map**

"Bloody _hell_," whispered Bellacine.

The thin green lines had spread to form a remarkable, highly detailed map of Hogwarts and the grounds. That wasn't the remarkable thing.

Covering the map were hundreds of tiny black dots, each next to a name. and the dots were moving. A dot named Peeves was bouncing around the trophy room, Professor Dumbledore's dot paced his office, and Filch's dot prowled the dungeons. In an otherwise empty classroom, there were four dots labeled Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Harry Potter, and Bellacine Black.

Then she noticed the unfamiliar passages. Some of them extended right off the map. They seemed to lead-

"Right into Hogsmeade," said Fred. "Now Filch knows about these four. The one on the fourth floor collapsed last winter, and we reckon no one can use this one, as the Whomping Willow's planted right over the entrance. But this one- right through that old crone, you'll notice- leads right into the basement of Honeydukes- we know the owner, Reddey, he doesn't mind."

George sighed happily. "Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,. We owe them so much."

"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers."

"Right," said George. "Don't forget to wipe it after you've used it-"

"Or anyone can use it," cautioned Fred.

"Just tap it again and say 'mischief managed' and it'll go blank."

"So, young Harry," said George.

"And Bella," said Fred.

"Mind you behave yourselves. And see you in Honeydukes." Harry glanced at Bellacine, while Fred and George left.

"Harry- I shouldn't go, I don't mind staying here." She paused. "But- there is a way, if you swear not to tell anyone. No teachers. No one else. Not even Ron and Hermione."

"Tell them what?"

"Tell them what I'm about to tell you. You swear?"

He nodded, and she knew she could trust him.

"Remember when we did Animagi at the beginning of the year in Transfiguration? Wizards who can turn themselves into animals?"

"Er…yeah…."

She took a deep breath. "'I'm an Animagus. An unregistered Animagus. That means no one else can know. I don't know for sure what'll happen if I get caught. I'll definitely be expelled. Probably worse." She didn't particularly want to know what would happen to her. It probably involved Azkaban.

"So you're coming into Hogsmeade," Harry said slowly. "But if we run into somebody and you don't think you should be there-"

"-then there'll be a nice, innocent stray black cat following you around. Here- I'll transform now, so you can see what I look like-"

Harry stared at the black cat, who, after a few seconds, turned back into Bellacine. "Er- do you really think this is a good idea? I mean, I don't think I'll get into _that _much trouble if I get caught, but if you get caught in Hogsmeade when you're not supposed to be there-"

"I'll be fine. It's not like anything is going to _happen_." More to herself, she added, "Pity I can't turn invisible. Then I could be the Cheshire Cat. That could be really entertaining."

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity in that dark, chilly passageway, Harry hit his head on the ceiling. "Think that's it," he gasped. He tried to push it open, but it rose only a half inch, creaking loudly. Harry froze. 

Bellacine jabbed her wand at the trapdoor, brushed past Harry and lifted it. It didn't creak this time. They stepped out into the basement of Honeydukes.

"While you're down there, bring up a box of Jelly Slugs, dear, they've nearly cleared us out," a voice called down the rickety staircase. Bellacine shoved Harry behind a stack of boxes and dived down after him. They crouched on the dusty floor, hardly daring to breath, while heavy footsteps clunked down the stairs.

"Don't say anything," Bellacine whispered in Harry's ear. "I'm going to go now. If I don't come back in fifteen seconds, then you go. Have you got your Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry shook his head.

"Bring it next time. Neither of us ought to be here, and the less chance we have of getting found out, the better." She slipped her wand back into her pocket, and, turning into the black cat, slowly padded out from behind their shelter.

An old, stooped man with wavy brown-grey hair bent over boxes in the far corner, away from the trapdoor and the stairs. The angle of his wandlight meant that he would not see her shadow.

Bellacine had just slipped out the cellar door, human, when Harry caught up with her. "Anyone see you?"

"Not yet," he replied.

Honeydukes was quite amazing, filled with all the varieties of sweets Bellacine had ever seen, even ones she'd only seen before in the Underground. Although there were many Hogwarts students, most of them were fourth and fifth years, and no one noticed them. Then, over in a corner by a display labeled 'Unusual Tastes' she spied Ron and Hermione.

Ron was holding a blood-red lollipop. "Think Harry'd eat this?"

"Ugh, no, Ron, I expect those are for vampires." Hermione pulled the lollipop out of Ron's hand and replaced it on the stand.

"What about this? Reckon Bella'd take a bit of Cockroach Cluster if I told her it was peanut brittle?"

"Definitely not," said Bellacine and Harry in unison.

Ron almost dropped the jar.

"Harry!" shrieked Hermione. "Bella! What are you doing here? How- how did you-?"

"Wow," said Ron, looking amazed. "You've both learnt to Apparate!"

"'Course we haven't," said Harry. Bellacine snorted. He whispered he story of the Marauders Map to Ron and Hermione.

"But you're going to turn it into Professor McGonagall, aren't you, Harry?" said Hermione.

"Are you mental?" said Ron in a whisper. "Turn in something that good?

"We can't," said Bellacine. "We'd get in trouble, Fred and George would get in trouble, whoever map this is would gets in trouble because Filch has to know something…."

"What about Sirius Black?" asked Hermione.

Harry sighed. "There are seven passageways out of Hogwarts. Fred and George think Filch knows about four of them, one's collapsed, one has the Whomping Willow over the entrance and then there's this one in the basement of Honeydukes."

Ron coughed and pointed at a sign on the opposite wall:

By Order of the Ministry of Magic 

_Customers are reminded that until further notice, de- _

_mentors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade _

_every night after sundown. This measure has been put _

_in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will _

_be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is there- _

_fore advisable that you complete your shopping well _

_before nightfall. _

_Happy Christmas! _

"See?" Ron said quietly. "I'd like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with dementors swarming all over the place. Anyway, the owners would hear a break-in, wouldn't they? They live right over the shop."

"Yes, but- but- Look, Harry, you shouldn't be coming into Hogsmeade and neither should Bella. You haven't got the form signed! If anyone finds out you'll be in so much trouble. And it's not night yet- What if-?"

"Come on, Hermione, it's Christmas. Give them a break. Besides, are you going to turn them in?"

"No- of course not, Ron, what do you think I am? Some sort of traitor?"

Ron dragged them out of Honeydukes; the weather was too hideous to do anything much but shiver (especially for Bellacine and Harry, who didn't even have cloaks), so eventually they gave up and went into the Three Broomsticks for butterbeer. Ron went to the front and paid. Just as he sat down and handed out the bottles, the door opened again to admit Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, Hagrid, and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

Ron and Hermione shoved Harry under the table, and Bellacine dived down after him. They huddled, cramped, under the tablecloth for what seemed like forever…and then she turned and looked at Harry.

His face was white.

"What is it?"

He shook his head, and she started to listen to the conversation going on somewhere up and to her left.

"I met him! I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what resued Harry from Lily an' James's house after they was killed!" sobbed Hagrid.

_No._

"An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN" TRAITOR!"

_Oh, god no, not this, don't listen to them, Harry, I never would..._

The teachers and Fudge walked out, leaving Ron, Hermione, and Harry staring at Bellacine with one word on their lips:

_Traitor._

"No. Not me. You know me. I never would do anything like that-"

"He was my father's best friend. He betrayed them to Lord Voldemort. He killed twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew for no reason at all." Harry said quietly. "What does that make you?"

She turned and walked out of the Three Broomsticks.


	7. Chapter 7 The Great 'Now What' Moment

_

* * *

_

A/N: I'm psychotically happy right now...I finished writing out PoA and I'm starting on GoF as soon as I can figure out HOW to start it. This chapter and the next are going to/already have taken me a long time to put up cos when I looked back at my written-out version it was incredibly stupid.

_Sorry there's no opportunity for her to punch Harry...although that could be fun...hmm..._

* * *

_To Prongs for his birthday_

* * *

She ran back to Honeydukes; down the tunnel; out into the corridor with the one-eyed witch and up to Gryffindor Tower so quickly she didn't see Harry, or anyone else she recognized. Bellacine froze suddenly when she entered the empty common room:

What now?

What on earth was she supposed to do? She had no intention of sticking around for Christmas anymore and she already dreaded returning to Hogwarts after the holidays. She never wanted to come back ever again. And she didn't want to go to Malfoy Manor for Christmas, either- she hadn't written or received any letters all fall, but she had no doubt they knew she was in Gryffindor, house of blood-traitors and those who fought against Voldemort. What had she been thinking, anyways? The Sorting Hat had offered her Slytherin and she had, of course, refused it, like the idiot she was. She didn't belong here.

She didn't belong _anywhere_, did she?

Bellacine slowly ascended the staircase to the girls' rooms, thinking hard and fast. She calmly packed up her trunk, put all her books in it and put on her coat, with her wand in the pocket. She closed the hangings around her bed- hopefully Hermione wouldn't notice she was gone until much later. Laughing at them in her head, she walked out of Gryffindor Tower, dragging her trunk behind her, and down to the edge of the grounds, with no destination in mind.

How was she even supposed to get anywhere? She was too young to Apparate and she'd left her broom behind at Durmstrang last year-

_Of course. Where did I go for Christmas last year? Where's the simplest, most obvious place to go to make sure I never have to come back here ever again? _

Bellacine stepped just beyond the winged-boar topped pillars that marked the entrance and flung out her right hand-

_CRACK. _

A purple bus appeared in the middle of the forest that stretched beyond the Hogwarts grounds, almost crashing into one of the pillars. It swerved and hit a tree instead. After a few seconds of recuperation, the door opened and a conductor wearing the same violent shade of purple as the bus stepped out.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the standard witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," muttered Bellacine. "Listen, how much is it to Lenin- St. Petersburg- whatever-from here?"

"'Choo wanna go there for?" asked the conductor, who could only be Stan Shunpike. She dimly remembered meeting him previously, on a trip to…well…she couldn't remember where. Someplace. "'Choo wanna go to- wait, you're with her, aren't you?"

"Who?" said Bellacine, mystified. She tried to shove past Stan onto the bus. "Here" She slammed twelve Sickles into his hand. "An extra since it's out of the country. The Underground. St. Petersburg, Leningrad, whatever you want to call it. Russia. Now leave me alone."

Payment in hand, he finally stepped aside, and she stepped up onto the bus; wove through the rows of rickety chairs. The bottom floor was, fortunately, deserted, but if anyone else was to come on that's where they'd sit. She climbed to the top floor.

The chairs here were in an even worse state, barely organized into rows that would fall apart the moment the Knight Bus took off again. The top floor was also deserted; Bellacine sat down in a seat by the window and stared out at the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. A matter of seconds later, the bus took off again, a chair slid across the floor and knocked over her seat. Grumbling, she straightened the chairs and sat down again. The hum of the bus engines lulled her to sleep.

_

* * *

_

She was about five years old, listening at the parlor door.

_"I still find it hard to believe….," said her aunt, Narcissa. _

_"Believe what?" asked the voice of her uncle. _

_"You know, about him. It never seemed likely that he had been serving the Dark Lord all along…I just never expected it of him…." _

_Expected what of whom? Who were they talking about? _

_"But my dear, they've got the wrong man…Simon Peter denied Christ in the Bible…and Peter…Peter…." _

_"He was the one?" _

_Footsteps, nearer to the door…. _

_"Bella! What are you doing here! Go up to bed, go up this instant!" _

_What had she heard that they had not wanted her to hear? _

* * *

Bellacine woke up to the sound of Stan Shunpike talking to a new passenger downstairs. She headed to the top of the staircase, peering down. She could only see the top of the new passenger's head, a yellow-blonde, and a bit of the landscape outside- flat, wet, and a bit more flat. Did I mention it was flat?

Nowhere near St. Petersburg was this flat, she thought. At least it shouldn't be. Maybe...Holland?

"Look, I know I just came here this afternoon, I know it's your Christmas in a veek's time, I know you're busy, and I don't care. I need to go back to the Underground, preferably now. Here's your money. Goodbye." The new passenger brushed past Stan easily; she had no trunk to carry with her. She climbed the staircase.

Bellacine had recognized her at the first glimpse of her face. "Anya Pyotrovna? What are you doing here? Where are we?"

"BELLA!" The girl leapt up the stairs and hugged Bellacine. "I thought you'd never come back! You said you veren't! Oh my god, you're back! I thought you'd never come to your senses! I thought- oh my god, vait till you get back, I can't vait to see the look on their faces. Ve're out early this year- Karkaroff finally realised there's enough people from Germany or Holland or Poland or verever that not everyvun has Christmas January seventh, so he actually let us out this early- I knew you vould come, I just knew it-!"

"Anya, calm down!" Bellacine laughed. "Did you really think I'd never come see you again? I told you I'd come and visit you sometimes…," Her voice went down like there was a dimmer switch on it. "…I just decided to come back…permanently-"

"Vot!"

Bellacine gulped and sat down quickly in her old seat. Anya sat across from her. "Seriously, vot? I thought you didn't vant to come back to Russia after last year-"

"Anya Pyotrovna Gnedich, please just be quiet and let me talk. _Bitte_. I don't want to go there anymore. Hogwarts. They're all idiots. Do you even know what they _have _there-?"

"Fine. Da, talk then. Vot happened?"

She told Anya what happened in the Three Broomsticks on Saturday; thankfully Anya just listened, never even stopping to interrupt her, although Bellacine could tell she had no clue what precisely was going on half the time. "…and Fudge was walking out the door, and he turned to McGonagall and said, 'Black and Potter again…I wonder sometimes…' and McGonagall says, 'Don't we all.' And then they're finally gone, and I look over at Harry, and he- he thinks I'm a traitor too," she finished weakly.

Anya said, "Some people vill be like that. There von't be any changing them. You can't do anything but ignore them; they don't know vot they're talking about."

Suddenly she heard in her mind everything Fudge had said in the Three Broomsticks, garbled together and speeding past, words rushing her in the face- Black- traitor- trusted him- like a brother- best friends- show his true colors- traitor- "I'M NOT," she screamed, half-wishing they could hear her now. "I'M NOT A TRAITOR! WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE! BUNCH OF HALF-BLOODS RUNNING THE SCHOOL- AND WHAT THEY'VE GOT TEACHING THERE! WHAT'S SOMETHING LIKE THAT DOING THERE; DON'T THEY KNOW WHAT CAN HAPPEN! WHAT THE-"

"I told you, llamas!"

Bellacine snapped into their old, routine debate immediately. It was a three-year-long argument over, of all things, what spit more- a camel or a llama. Bellacine had been on the side of the camels from the very beginning, with Isay Poliakoff and Natasha Urbanowitz. "Camels!"

"Llamas! Just tell me everything ven ve get to my house, it's too difficult having a proper conversation here."

"Camels!"

Anya frowned suddenly. "Vait, are you seriously coming back to Durmstrang or just back for Christmas?"

"Back forever." She stared blankly out the window. "It's not just that everyone hates me-"

"They don't-"

"They do. It's not just that; that I can deal with, it's that they have people teaching there who seriously should not be there. Not just that I dislike them but that they have no place teaching there. So I got sick of the universe over there and decided to come back here. For good." Bellacine shrugged neutrally. "I'd rather be here where I actually have friends- nice sort of feeling, you know?"

"Da. But do your family know you've come here?"

"Does, not do. And no. They know why I left Durmstrang last summer but they don't need to know why I'm leaving Hogwarts. I don't think I can tell anyone."

Anya shook her head disapprovingly and let Bellacine stare moodily out the window for the remainder of the trip.

* * *

The bus had thankfully stopped moving. At the base of the stairs, she could hear Stan Shunpike calling up, "We're 'ere! I can't properly get inno it but we're as close as we can take you- right, Ern?"

Grumbling somewhat (just because Stan was more annoying than the Andy Griffith show theme song), Bellacine headed downstairs, dragging her trunk, followed by Anya. They brushed past Stan, who hopefully wished them a "'Appy Christmas!"

He received a "It's not January yet, idiot!" from Anya for his trouble.

"Okay, the entrance is right over here- come on, Bella, hurry up-"

"I'm _cold_," said Bellacine, teeth chattering. "Why didn't you tell me it was this cold, I could have gotten my cloak out at the very least...stupid Underground, why can't the blasted bus just show up _inside _it for once instead of us having to get in-?" she muttered as she followed Anya across the street and through a gate between two buildings on the opposite wall. The left-hand building, the one that none of the Muggles passing by seemed to notice, bore a sign that read, roughly translated, 'The Cauldron That Doesn't Leak Anymore Because Somebody Had the Brains to Patch It Up.'

Oh, yes, it felt good to be back, however cold she was and however crazy the world was...

They were in the Underground now. Actually, 'Underground' was a bit of a misnomer as they were just as outdoors as the Muggle world they had left behind was, but the name had always been Underground and so it would stay. Though it served essentially the same purpose as a combination of Diagon Alley and the Ministry, the layout differed completely. It was set up like a small town, arranged around a central square that held the Russian Ministry (a Ministry that had no involvement whatsoever with certain government issues in the past seventy-odd years, thankyouverymuch), a bank, and a post office. On the streets around this epicenter were a number of shops and the like, again very similar to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.

_No thinking about that right now_, Bellacine told herself sharply_. Enjoy your Christmas and the thought of never having to talk to them again_.

After a few layers of shops, the streets turned into a residential district. On the north side, the gate being on the west side, was the Gnedich's house on Ikaratina Prospekt. Finally, after dredging through the thick layer of snow in the Underground, they came to the house.

She had also come the previous Christmas, so it wasn't that unfamiliar, but she felt strangely out of place as they climbed the stone steps. How could she feel out of place here? It was Russia. It was her _home_.

"_Gottverdammt_! Vasily, you are going to pay very badly as soon as I get in there!" Anya shouted as she jiggled the doorknob, then gave up and pounded on the door.

"What?"

"My brother...you remember Vasily, he's two years older...anyvay, venever I leave he alvays locks me out just to be annoying and this time I- can't- find- the- spare- key!" she snarled. "I'm going to kill him. Vasily Pyotorovich Gnedich, I hope you heard that!" she shouted at the door.

Bellacine shivered. "You know," she said conversationally, "there's this really convinient thing known as magic that generally enables people to accomplish things that would otherwise be very, very difficult. For example, if you don't have a key, there's this handy little spell-"

"I hate the universe. Especially ven I forget it exists and then it messes vith me," Anya muttered, digging out her wand; after a quick "_Alohomora_" they were in.

Just then the clock struck ten. Bellacine waited for the last bell to ring, counting the _dongs_, until she realised the time. "Are you sure your mum won't mind me showing up here this late at night with no warning- I mean, if you just got out of school today-"

"It's fine," she replied, heading down the hallway. "Leave your stuff by the door, ve'll come back for it later. If my mum's still up she'll be in the kitchen."

She wasn't. They sat down at the kitchen table.

"Anyvay...okay, enough vaiting, I vant to know vot it's like," said Anya as soon as they were in the empty kitchen. "Hogvarts...Merlin, it must be so strange going to a school that has mudbloods. Vot are they like?"

"People in general or the mudbloods?" Bellacine wasn't in a particulary generous mood towards Hermione or any of her other (former) friends. "Well, everyone essentially hates me because of the whole Sirius Black thing, and though there used to be, say, three people who didn't hate me and were actually kind of my friends, they certainly aren't now. See, Harry- well, his parents were killed by the Dark Lord and today we sort of snuck into Hogsmeade and in a very long and roundabout way we also found out that his parents are essentially dead cos Sirius Black sold them out to the Dark Lord and of course they all think that I'm some traitor. I told you that bit already."

Anya grimaced, then suddenly frowned. "Vait. Harry...as in Harry Potter?"

She nodded.

"Karkaroff is so going to kill you if you come back and you vere formerly _friends _vith the kid who brought down the Dark Lord. And isn't he a half-blood?"

She nodded again.

"_Please _tell me your other friends are pureblood."

"Blood traitor and mudblood."

"_Vot_?! Bella Regulovna, I thought ve had you trained right..." Anya rolled her eyes and shook her head. "And the teachers? Not quite as crazy, I hope."

Bellacine opened her mouth to answer _Yeah, they're worse...how would you feel about a werewolf teaching? _but they heard footsteps in the hallway and then the door swung open.

A boy taller than Anya, but with the same blond hair (although lighter eyes) came in. "What's going on? I heard-" He stopped suddenly and grinned when he saw Bellacine seated at the kitchen table. "Bella Regulovna...velcome back."

"Eh..._zdravstvuyite_...you're Vasily, right?"

Vasily nodded once. "I do try to be remembered. Look, just go on vith votever you vere talking about."

Anya said, "_D'accord, ainsi que disiez-vous avant qu'il marche dedans_?" with a small mischievous fire in her eyes. At first Bellacine didn't get the joke, then realised Vasily would have no idea what they were saying...a sort of payback for being locked out, she supposed.

"_N'agissez pas comme quelque chose est erronée quand je vous dis ceci, mais un des professeurs est..._" Bellacine couldn't go on.

"_Un quoi?"_

"_Un loup-garou_," she forced out.

Vasily whirled around. "Vot?"

"Shut up," said Anya. "It's not like this has anything to do vith you. Bella...oh god, I can't believe they vould do something that crazy- hiring a-"

"Don't say it," she hissed.

"Right, sorry...but are you really sure? Couldn't you have...just maybe...been wrong?"

Bellacine shook her head. "I'm sure. That's why I came back. There's no way on earth I'm staying at that school with that there. I'd have to be absolutely crazy."

Anya hesitated momentarily, seemingly unsure of whether she should continue with the carzy-Hogwarts-people expression or smile. Smiling won. "Vell, it's vorth it for you to come back."

"You mean back for Christmas, yes?" said Vasily, not looking quite so happy anymore. "You don't mean back to Durmstrang..."

"I do," Bellacine replied. "Back to Durmstrang, that is."

"_Nyet_."

"What?" she yelped. "Look, Vasily Pyotorovich, you are not going to tell me I can't come back to Durmstrang if I want to. I have every right to return if I would rather, so don't bother telling me I can't; I'll come back, like it or not. This is my decision and my decision alone and- guess what?- I've already decided."

He sighed. "Please, Bella Regulovna, listen to me. _This is not vere you belong_."

"It is so!"

"No, it is not. You are only here in the first place because your family vanted you to go here, vere you vould learn Dark Arts, and your uncle knew Karkaroff, so it vurked out like so. Go back to Hogvarts. _You do not belong here_."

"You know, you're incredibly annoying," said Anya. "You can leave any time you please in the next, say, ten seconds. _Odin- dva- tri- chetriyeh- pyat-_"

"Leaving," muttered Vasily. He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Think about it, Bella."

"Like hell I will!"


	8. Chapter 8 Auld Lang Syne

Oh, the humanity. 

I shall not say any further. You understand me. 

Well, onto business as usual: Hmm, let's see. Business. Right. Right, what is that? I had something useful to say…but then I forgot…wait, wait, it's coming to me! 

Ah yeah. Just that the next updates will be more frequent cos I won't have to type this from scratch. I always get really sidetracked in study hall when there's not a distinct copy to type from. But that's over, thank goodness. 

Anyway. I'm working on Goblet of Fire now. I might have said that before. Who cares? I'm in the mood to rant mindlessly. Hmm, ranting subjects. Thinking, thinking, thinking very hard.

Eureka! 

What is it with people and Green Day? Why is it that EVERYTHING I read mentions Green Day at one point or another? Hey, I think I've got it. Green Day is plotting to take over the world using…using…songs that get permanently embedded on the inside of your skull, anti-llamas, spaghetti, the evil versions of Microsoft Office that you have to shout at for a year and a day to get them to understand 'whilst' is a word. (I should know. I was on the receiving end of some very strange looks in study hall) And those pesky little nickels. I hate nickels. You can't buy anything decent with them at lunch and yet they stalk me throughout my life. Stupid little five cents, they'll be the death of us all.

Where was I?

Oh yes, Green Day. Well, they're plotting to take over the world using the aforementioned, mashed potatoes, and the evil people in my Biology class who think the turtle dubbed 'Betelgeuse' (by yours truly) should be called 'Harold.'

Honestly. Do not walk the Boulevard of Broken Dreams! Do not wake up when September ends! Fight on against Green Day! Actually, I don't mind them. Too bad.

Ok, I sounded like Luna there. Sorry. I feel crazy.

**

* * *

**

Disclaimer(for the sheer hell of it): Bellacine is mine. Vasily & Co. are mine. Harry is not. Rowling's stuff is not.

**However, my soul is. Fortunately. Or is it? Does it even matter? Maybe I'm possessed. Anyone know an exorcist?**

* * *

English Christmas passed without much notice further than a bit grander meal in the Gnedich house on Ikaratina Prospekt. An owl had come that day, from her aunt and uncle, with her Christmas present. Only one owl; nothing came from Hogwarts. Of course.

It was very late the morning of New Year's Eve, and Bellacine had just woken up. The bedroom beside her guest room- Anya's- was empty. Further searching of the large house revealed that she apparently was not home, either. She went into the parlour for a second look-over and found Vasily there.

"Where's Anya?"

"How should I know?" He was seated at a table, doing schoolwork. "Someplace other than here."

She could guess what was coming. "You locked her out again?"

Grinning, he removed a silvery key from the pocket of his robes and held it up to the light. "What do you think? Of course I did. I have to annoy her somehow, you know."

She collapsed neatly onto the sofa. "You're evil. How's Durmstrang?"

"You are not going back there so I hardly think it matters. You spent the past week upstairs talking to Anya anyway, why not ask her?"

"Shut up, please." The order was followed by a seemingly longer-than-it-was, semi-awkward pause. "Anya's going to kill you if she comes back and you've locked her out again, you know."

"And what will you do about it?"

"Give me the key," she said, glaring. "Come on, Vasily, give it here. Seriously."

"I take bribes," he said.

"How much money?"

Vasily smiled, taking the key out again; beginning to toss it n the air and catch it. "No money, Bella, not from you. Promise you willn-will not- won't"-he found the foreign word with a small nod of recognition-"go to Durmstrang."

"Are you crazy? What kind of deal is that?" I thought this was just a game; how does he think I'd promise him that? He's got this delusional little idea that Durmstrang is, is bad for me or something, when it's really the only place I've ever learned anything…."No way." Bellacine shrugged, sighed, and, giving up, sat down opposite. "Can I at least have a reason?"

"Yes, of course you can; I'm feeling charitable. Do you know what they teach?"

"Yes, Vasily, I remember the bit about Dark Arts, and I can't say I care. It's only Dark magic, not anything that bad, really; so what do you care? And I notice that you yourself seem to have no qualms about anything when you're two years past me, so logically you're the one learning all 'what they teach.'

He started to tilt his chair backwards. "Tell me, why did you go there in the beginning?"

"Because," said Bellacine, and then found that she didn't quite know why. "Because…because...my aunt and uncle just…sent me here. There's really not some long explanation. I don't know."

"But your cousin, why not him also?" argued Vasily. "Explain that."

She shrugged again, shaking her head. "I don't know. Well, actually I do. You know how it is. He's my cousin; he's their kid, I'm not. Hence Narcissa doesn't want him going to school so far away but of course I don't matter that far." Vasily opened his mouth again, but she staved him off. "Now you're going to ask why either of u would have gone to the communist school- oh, shut up, it's a language known as sarcasm- instead of the nice lovely English school. I'll save you the trouble. Hogwarts is run by some senile half-blood who fought the hardest of them all to bring down the Dark Lord. Durmstrang is run by one of 'the other sort.' What do you expect my uncle would do?"

An expression she couldn't quite identify flashed across his face. "Of course. Your father. Your uncles. I should have remembered." He bowed his head; staring at the tabletop, he asked, very quietly, "Do you remember them at all? Do you know how...how they...died?"

"Who, my parents?" she said, startled. No one had ever really asked her this before; Anya she had told and the same for Hogwarts. No one had ever bothered only to ask. "No. Not really. They died when I was too little, you know? I suppose you knew about my father, he was in with the Death Eaters too, and I think Aurors killed him. I think a lot of them went that way. My mother I don't know about, not really; I suppose she got the same."

It wasn't like it was hard to talk about. It had always been that way- Your father was a Death Eater and the Aurors killed him. Your mother was my sister; she died too and we're caring for you. They named me your godfather- your godmother's in Azkaban. That's a prison. They sent her away because she was a Death Eater. No, it's not bad; all it means is fighting for pure blood. That was the way it went. That was the way it was. What was she supposed to miss, family she had never known?

"Oh," he said quietly. "Anya told you about our father, didn't she?"

"I know he's dead. But that's about it."

Vasily took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "He died the twenty-fifth of December, seventy-nine. Anya's birthday is November eighth and I'm October third. They wanted him to join. He refused. They killed him."

She almost asked who they were, but as her mouth opened she realised precisely who. Death Eaters. Anya's and Vasily's father had been killed by Death Eaters; for all she knew it was her own father who cast the curse. She didn't want to ask. But she had to know. "Do you know who killed him?"

"No." Bellacine swallowed and looked down. "It wasn't Regulus, Bella," he said gently.

"How do you know?"

"Because," Vasily said, and then stopped. "Because," he began again, firmly, more firmly than she would have been able to say, "It wasn't. It wasn't, and it doesn't matter who it was."

"And if it was," Bellacine said, "then what?"

"It was not, it does not matter, and it will not matter."

There was pounding on the door. "Anya," Vasily sighed, and threw the key across the room. It hit the window and slid to the floor.

"You're not planning to let her in, are you?" she muttered. "No, don't even bother answering. I know already."

"She'll manage at some point. Tell me, are you thinking to go to Durmstrang?" he said.

"Of course I am, Vasily-"

"No, not to go back forever-"

"I gathered that much," she interrupted coolly. "And how long is it going to take you to get that I'm going back; I'm tired of arguing."

Vasily regarded her like a chessboard. (Bellacine, not Vasily.) And just as he began to speak again, the front door banged open and Anya came in.

"Are you going tonight?" she said to Bellacine, in English. And to Vasily: "You will pay for that at a later date, Vasily Pyotorovich."

"I'm sure I will," he responded, switching back to Russian, "and I just asked her."

"Asked me what?" asked Bellacine.

"New Year's Eve, at Durmstrang."

"I know that!" she shouted. "I know New Year's exists! I know Durmstrang exists! I know Vasily exists, because he's being a perverse idiot! I know you exist because I'm talking to you right now! I know Russia exists because I'm here! I know Britain exists because- because-"

"Because they don't know how to make tea properly?" supplied Anya helpfully.

"Because it's Britain and Britain is crazy?" added Vasily. **Sorry. I'd insult America more, and faster, if I had occasion.**

Bellacine pointed to Anya. "Yes." And to Vasily. "No. Everywhere in the world is crazy. Some places are just crazier than others, and most would say Russia has the crazier side of things considering a messed-up calendar-"

"-not anymore!"

"-A messed-up church that's almost Catholic but not quite-"

"-Look who's talking-"

"The point is," she stated loudly, "well, the point being that...that of...I don't know what's going on, I really would like to know what's going on, and you're still being perverse!"

"I think we're going to leave now," said Anya, and she dragged Bellacine upstairs to get her coat, back downstairs and out the door. "It's only Vasily being stupid. You can come back if you like."

"I was planning to anyway," she grumbled. "Why doesn't he ever shut up? Is it that his life goal is to annoy everyone within five meters?"

Anya began to laugh hard, and Bellacine stopped in her tracks. "What? What's so funny?"

"Haven't you noticed anything?" she gasped between spurts of laughter. "Can't you tell? You're incredibly blind if you still can't tell-"

"Can't tell what? What can't I tell?" she snapped. "I know I'm blind, Anya, you don't need to make me feel worse than I already do..."

"What do you have to worry about? It's New Year's, it's a week till Christmas, you came back, you're going back to Durmstrang. Be optimistic. Honestly."

Bellacine turned sideways to Anya, shouted, "THERE'S A WEREWOLF TEACHING AT HOGWARTS! WHAT ABOUT-"

"Not so loud!"

"What, do you not believe me then-?"

"I do! Seriously, I do. But normal people don't go about shouting about werewolves in broad daylight, generally! "

"What about that!" Bellacine continued, but in a quieter tone. "What about that, then? What am I supposed to do?"

"You don't have to do anything-"

"So I just leave them all to die?"

Anya shrugged, looking mystified. "I thought you said they all hated you. I thought you said something to the extent of you didn't give a damn about them." She slowly eyed Bellacine obliquely.

"No one else dies if I can help it." Bellacine strode away. She called over her shoulder, "No one else's death is going to be on my conscience. I'll figure out a way to- get rid of- the problem; I'll come back."

"It wasn't your fault," she said quietly. "You know it wasn't. Nothing happened last year that you could've prevented. You know what they say, shit happens. Shit happened. It's not your fault if it does."

"Isn't it?" Don't cry. You are not going to start sobbing in the middle of a street in broad daylight. You are going to stay perfectly calm and not do anything drastic. You will act like a nice, normal human-

The universe seemed to crawl to a stop.

"No," she whispered.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Anya ran to her.

"Human...," she breathed. "He was human, wasn't he?"

For a few moments, too long, her friend looked blank; she clearly didn't understand the dilemma: that if Ilya was bitten by a werewolf, wouldn't he be a werewolf? But Ilya couldn't be anything- other than Ilya- Ilya, the boy who won a Quidditch game in six minutes, the boy who once set off firecrackers in Potions for the sheer hell of it, her friend, everything that made him human-

Anya's eyes grew very wide and, though she hesitated before answering, she still said gently, "Of course he is. Just because he was bitten and then died, that wouldn't mean he died a werewolf. No one's going to be that stupid."

Bellacine nodded shakily, and sniffed, though her eyes were dry.

"Well then," Anya said s\cheerily, "come back to the house. We're going to New Year's tonight, New Year's Eve that is-"

"Where are we going and who decided that just maybe you'd like to tell me beforehand?"

She sighed exasperatedly. "Durmstrang-"

"-communist stronghold of the north-"

"Shut up." And that was about as concise an answer as you could give. "Durmstrang. New Year's Eve. Essentially what this is, is every year there's something of a big party- no, not quite a party, possibly because all the teachers are there, but the point remains- from about eight to midnight that roughly everyone ends up coming to-"

"If 'everyone' ends up going to it then why have we never gone before? Or is this one of those special little things that only a select few- say, the world minus me- know about?" Bellacine asked dryly.

"No, no, it's just that technically we weren't really allowed to go before fourth year, so-" She shrugged. "If you'd stayed at my house year before last you wouldn't have missed the gate-crashing contingent..."

Suddenly feeling like an outsider, she said, "But- aren't we in third year?"

Anya shook her head disappointedly. "Bella Regulovna. Have you forgotten everything?"

"Yes I have." She added, under her breath, "Who am I? Where am I? What's my purpose in life? Why am I here? Where is this place known as here anyway? What's going on?" By now she'd realised what Anya meant; Durmstrang started a year earlier than Hogwarts, so Hogwarts third year was Durmstrang fourth year, and so on down the line.

"You get it now?" Anya asked. "Good. There's only one small detail of a problem, now, so if we can get past that-"

"What's the problem? The world is coming to an end?"

"No, that's going to happen next year. See, this is technically only for the students. And technically you aren't a student anymore. A Durmstrang student, that is. Because you've left."

"Oh, that's convenient. So what're we planning to do?"

Anya shrugged blandly. "The three of us go all the same, we don't tell everyone you're there, and you don't get caught."

Bellacine decided this was a good plan, if lacking a little in the actual planning department, and she was likely to be caught, however careful they were. "Have you noticed when people say not to get caught, one generally ends up caught?"

"It happens to everyone. Are you okay now?" After a glance at Bellacine she began to lead the way back to the Gnedichs' house. "Let's go back for the meantime, then."

Thinking of Vasily and his key-hiding habit, she muttered, "Easier said than done."

* * *

Bellacine went downstairs at quarter till eight. She and Anya hadn't been able to think of any means to make her look less Bella-ish, any approach that would lessen the likelihood of being caught. Whilst technically it wasn't a big deal if she was noticed by anyone but a section of the students, who knew enough to keep mum on anything not vastly important, a good half of the teachers weren't so very blind, and perhaps might care if someone snuck in. So they'd have to rely on her remaining inconspicuous; all of them not drawing attention to themselves.

"Thank god you already know where Durmstrang is, and that," said Anya. "If we were bringing someone who'd never been there before and they figured out where the school was, we'd be in so much trouble."

Of course they would: however well hidden Hogwarts was, however Unplottable, however protected in case a Muggle were to wander across it, she knew Durmstrang was even more serious. She didn't even know the exact location, only that her old school was somewhere south of Arkangel'sk on the Dvina River.

"Ready?" Vasily enquired. "The papers they give us at the beginning of the year have the Portkeys in them; we've each got one and you'll have to go along on Anya's- I think that will work- don't do anything stupid, please, or I don't even want to think what'll happen."

He handed a piece of parchment to Anya and kept one for himself; she motioned Bellacine over and they both laid a hand on the paper. Scanning the bits that were still visible, she saw it to be blank, except for where the date '31 December 1993' was visible at the head of the page. They all stood in silence, Vasily keeping an eye on the clock.

"Any time now."

"In ten," he amended. "Sem- shest- pyat- chetyre- tri- dva- odin-"

She'd only ever taken a Portkey once before, and that had been a long time ago. The paper flashed azure blue; the room began to spin- then they weren't at the house- whirling through space- she could practically imagine what a Muggle would say to see this, they'd think the space-time continuum had been blown to pieces several times over and the resurrected-

She didn't have her eyes open any longer but Bellacine knew they were reaching their destination, not rotating quite as fast or as frequently now, and then she crashed into the ground.

"Ow," Anya said vaguely.

She stood carefully and brushed snow off her coat; looked up. They were at the border wall, a good twenty feet high, made of brick. Beyond the high metal gate was an expanse of cold white snow, sloping up towards a castle on a hill overlooking the area. The castle was framed by mountains and pine forests; it itself was tall and dark, but for the lights glinting through the windows, which were long and thin. It was very different from Hogwarts- whilst Hogwarts looked very much the part of a medieval castle, Durmstrang Castle looked more f\military, more foreboding.

But she didn't care.

It was Durmstrang.

* * *

Acting as always in his role of master of ceremonies, Professor Novy stood at the high table and began to speak in German, listing the rules- this essentially being a New Year's Eve party, it was wise to set some form of guidelines for the night.

"We have to stay here in the Hall, we can't go around the rest of the school," Vasily murmured from her left. "Pity, I would've liked to show you the place. Not that anything much has changed, but still…."

To her right, Anya stood beside Jan Maarten, one of Bellacine's equals, both in year and in nationality outside the cachement areas. He was Dutch, and somehow had not been sent to the area school just as Bellacine had; in his case, his school would have been Beauxbatons.

"I still speak German," she hissed back to Vasily as he continued his quiet Russian translation of the rules.

He looked surprised. "Four languages, all still fluently. I am impressed."

"French not so much," she replied in an undertone. "Speak, yes. Fluent, hardly." He opened his mouth to continue but seemed to decide against it. "Russian of course, I've been speaking it these past two weeks- I'm speaking it now. German only because everything's taught in German and the classes at Hogwarts are so simple-minded I've been forced to delve into the old standby: reading ahead."

Chuckling quietly, he said, "Don't think that convinces me you ought to return- wait, I forgot: I don't need convincing."

Deciding present matters were hopeless at best, she began scanning the Hall for anyone she recognized. Bellacine quickly found several of her old classmates scattered throughout, inter-dispersed with others she knew through Quidditch and still more whom she only knew by face. It gave her a small pang to realize if the first-years were here, she wouldn't know even one.

Classes and such all were taught in German because of the wide range of nationalities. Though most students came knowing Russian- their families being educated in the same way, knowing what was coming- it wasn't necessary, although you were likely to be almost entirely left out of anything not centering on schoolwork. The logic was, most languages used a common alphabet, this alphabet not being Cyrillic. The Russians came knowing German through familial experience, so they were all right. But German would be simpler to learn to a, say, Polish-born student than Russian would, or so they reasoned.

She knew a few who couldn't speak Russian- Jan Maarten being one, and about ten or so throughout the school from the old Harfang regions whose families had never needed to know Russian. Harfang had been a school in Iceland, not large but decently big, and the native school for Scandinavia, Iceland, and occasionally a few Finns. Back in the early nineteen hundreds there was a 'small problem' involving the chain of command; the school never was rebuilt. Hence, the size of Durmstrang- from European Russia in the north and west to Bulgaria in the south and Germany to the east was large enough without Norway, Sweden, Denmark and a good half of Finland thrown in. The other countries had been included for nearly a century and it was unlikely they would ever leave.

Novy finished and sat; the students dissolved from their organised blob to the four corners of the Hall. By some means or another, Anya disappeared midway between point A and point B- the hitch being that Bellacine hadn't the slightest idea where point B was and subsequently found herself in the midst of a group of sixth years ardently discussing something in Lithuanian. Vasily backtracked, found her orbiting a small chip in the floor, Sputnik-like, completely unsure of whether life as she knew it still existed.

"Come on," he said, guiding her across the room, "Anya vanished mysteriously and I don't miss her quite enough to owl MI6, so you're stuck with me. Besides, I don't think owling the Muggles is a good idea."

They reached a half-empty (ever the pessimism) table set against the opposite wall; Vasily introduced his friends. She recognised some of them- Isay, Reinhardt, and Leszek- only from Quidditch. Vasily himself never had played and said he never saw a point to it, but the rest she had played with, or against. Her old team had none of the prowess of Gryffindor at Hogwarts; rather, they were decently good but not particularly amazing.

She assumed the loss of their best Seeker yet- and weapon against the tsarevitch- had cost them something. But Bellacine didn't want to dwell on that tonight.

"Come join the pointless debate of the year," Isay said. "Not my idea, only Reinhardt being crazy as usual."

"Debate?" asked Vasily and Bellacine in unison.

"For the greatest country," said Leszek, his Russian slightly poorer than the rest of the tables'. "Germany against Russia against Poland, although Poland is clearly-"

"Sinking faster than the _Lusitania_," interjected Reinhardt. "_You _let the communists walk all over you, and this wasn't my idea either. I don't know whose it was, so please don't blame it on me."

"My mind is on overload from every Soviet-era joke and catchphrase I've thought of or heard in the past few days," she snapped. "No more. Please."

"Then argue for Britain," one of the others said. "Oh, I've forgotten: You've already lost." **Again, sorry.**

"I know that," she said, quite truthfully.

"Then come," Vasily said expansively, sitting and gesturing for her to sit as well. "Fight for the glory of Russia."

Leszek snorted and wondered aloud how there could possibly be an argument towards Russia given 'past history.'

"Oh really," someone else drawled, "and what've you got to say for _Poland_?"

He opened his mouth and, after a moment, frowned. "Well- well, you see, that's really not- that is to say-"

"Told you so," Reinhardt whispered very audibly.

Leszek shook his head vigorously; out of nowhere, he came up with, "Well- well- if it wasn't for every Christian denomination that actually had Christmas on December 25 like normal people instead of January 7, you would have been in school another week before holidays! And the pope is Polish!"

Amidst gales of laughter, she heard someone behind her quietly ask, "What is this?"

Bellacine stiffened for a moment, sure it was a teacher and she was about to get herself, Anya, and Vasily in a great deal of trouble, but Vasily snapped, "Go away, Anton, no one asked you to be here."

She turned and recognised his cousin, Anton, standing a little ways back from her chair. He was in seventh (Hogwarts sixth) year, tall, dark brown hair and pale skin. Regarding her coolly, Anton added under his breath, "I doubt anyone asked _her_ to be here and yet here she is." As he spoke, he casually walked away from her and stopped behind Vasily, who half-rose. "Been staying at your house lately, hasn't she, Vasily?" he continued softly. "I'm not surprised, dirty little English-"

She didn't catch whatever he said next, but Vasily practically leapt out from his seat and shouted furiously, "Say that again!"

"Gladly, I would, but I doubt you'd like it-"

"You're damn right I wouldn't," he shouted.

They both pulled their wands out at the same second, and, seeming to each realise the other was ready to fight, paused.

"Outside," Leszek hissed. "Not here. You said we weren't supposed to draw attention to ourselves if Bella Regulovna's at our table." The boy beside him added, "I'm not going outside in _that_."

They all looked out the thin windows to the wide grounds and the black sky. Snow was falling thick and fast, covering all the footprints previously leading up to the castle. After a few seconds Vasily said, "The atrium then, if it's as cold as it looks outside. Be there in ten minutes or you've forfeited. Who's your second?"

"I fight on my own," he snarled. "You're not that brave or that good, are you?"

"You fight alone simply because you have no friends, Dolohov," Reinhardt spat. "I'm his second- only since no one trusts you not to use the Unforgivables."

Anton glared at his cousin and Reinhardt, both of whom glared right back. Neither side seemed to want to back down, until Vasily broke the standoff and said, "Shake on it, then."

They shook hands as quickly as possible and Anton stormed off.

"What was that all about? What happened?" Bellacine asked quickly.

"Nothing," he snarled, then repeated in a softer tone, "nothing. Only him being a little- as usual, you know- a little-"

"Bastard," Isay put in helpfully.

"Shut up. No one insults my family but me," he growled.

"And me," said Anya; she had come up to the table by the wall with Jan Maarten closely following her. "What'd we miss? Misha said you were fighting with Anton. I told you not to fight, idiot! I told you, _don't attract attention_!"

"I didn't get a chance to fight him, _Mother_," Vasily muttered angrily. "We're duelling in the atrium. He said- he called-" He shook with suppressed fury, then slowly relaxed. "Come with, we need someone to watch the door to make sure none of the teachers come out."

They left the table, Vasily, Isay, Reinhardt, and Leszek in front, then the others, then Jan Maarten, then Anya and Bellacine, and headed for the doors on the left. Halfway across the Hall Bellacine started to wonder what Jan was doing with the rest of them- as far as she knew none of them were particularly his friend.

"What's he doing with us?" she whispered to Anya.

"Oh-er- that. I meant to tell you earlier, that is"-she was turning red-"well, he's sort of going out with me- or I'm sort of going out with him- that's why I was on the Knight Bus in Holland when you came on-"

"Nice of you to remember to tell me," she muttered. Anya blushed darker as one by one they slipped into the atrium.

"Someone stay and watch the door," Vasily said. "Don't let anyone in except my cousin."

"I'll go, and Jan," Anya said immediately. She turned and explained again to him in German, and they left. One of them carefully, quietly shut the door.

Vasily stood a few feet in front of the right-hand wall, covering to her eyes the spot where she knew Grindelwald had etched his mark. The rest scattered themselves on either side of the door, and waited motionlessly. Reinhardt walked over to stand by Vasily. No one spoke- in fact, everyone was waiting as quietly as possible.

"Two minutes," Reinhardt announced, checking his watch.

The door creaked ominously and everyone spun around; it was only Jan, peering through where he'd opened it a crack.

"Anton_ ist hier_," he said.

"Send him on through, then" said Reinhardt, and again took his place at Vasily's side. Anton came in; the door was softly closed behind him. He and Vasily stepped towards each other, drawing their wands, crossing their wands in midair when they were a few feet apart. Both bowed.

"Vasily Pyotorovich Gnedich, Anton Dolohov: Ten paces, fire at will," Leszek said loudly, or as loudly as he dared. "If no one has plainly lost or forfeited we stop after half an hour."

"And who decides the victor, then?" Anton demanded. "Anyone here will be biased-"

"Bella Regulovna decides," he said firmly. "She's the only girl here and traditionally, I think the woman decides the victor, does she not?"

"Biased," he muttered again.

Leszek rolled his eyes, raised his hand, and let it fall. Vasily and Anton turned away and took their ten paces; they whirled around at the same moment and began. Both were duelling as silently as possible, again afraid to make noise.

Anton sent a jet of blue light flying towards Vasily, he ducked and it ricocheted off the wall, but he sent out a shield charm and the spell extinguished harmlessly. He sent his own spells at Anton, red light followed by two spurts of gold, then more red- Stunning Spell, she guessed- trying to hit him with enough to take him off his guard. Neither seemed to be gaining the upper hand. As Jan opened the door a crack to watch, Vasily sent a powerful-looking burst of light out, but his cousin dodged it and it flew over Jan's head, out the door.

"I really hope no one saw that," Bellacine whispered.

They'd been at it for fifteen minutes now, at a stalemate. Anton had more training and more skill, but Vasily had sheer bravado and a keen knowledge of when to duck going for him- moreover, he had challenged Anton to this, she still didn't know why, but it gave him a stronger drive to succeed.

Anton made a sharp downward-slashing movement with his wand; Vasily, who had been too busy sending another Stunning Spell, didn't duck in time. Anton's spell hit him in the chest, and he stumbled.

Vasily bent almost double, clutching his chest; Anton strode up to him with his wand held straight out before him.

"Forfeit," he hissed. It was the first anyone had spoken in a long time.

"Never," Vasily gasped-

The door was pushed open; light spilled across the dark atrium. Bellacine's spine stiffened- someone had caught them, whether for her presence or leaving the Hall, she knew not-

"Someone's coming! Get out!" Anya shouted, appearing behind Jan. Anton was the first to run for the door, after a pause, Isay, Leszek, and finally Reinhardt followed. The door slammed shut with Bellacine and Vasily still on the other side.

She ran to him. "Are you all right? We've got to get out of here-"

"I'm fine," he panted, "it wasn't bad. Get out of the middle of the room, or if anybody comes in we'll be the first thing they see." Together they slipped to the far wall, the opposite from Grindelwald's Wall. The door opened; Bellacine bit down on her tongue to restrain a gasp.

It was the Transfiguration teacher, Professor Rademacher, possibly the best man to find them out of the Hall. He taught well, but he was incredibly absent-minded and half-blind; if he even noticed them, he'd likely think they were supposed to be there.

Rademacher apparently wasn't there because he'd noticed something going on outside the Hall. He crossed the atrium without glancing left or right- had he, he might have seen Bellacine and Vasily standing in the shadows, hardly daring to breathe.

"Close call," he whispered after the teacher exited through one of the door on the opposite side from the Hall entrance. "Let's go back in before anyone else comes here." He went to the Hall door and yanked the handle. The door didn't budge. Vasily tried again.

Finally, he said, "It's locked from the other side- I should have known, they always do this when they don't want us leaving the Hall."

"You're sure it wasn't Anya?" she asked wearily. "Try _Alohomora_, then, if it's locked."

"I can't" he said simply. "All the doors are fixed so that won't work on them. And Anya wouldn't do this."

"We're stuck here, aren't we?" she said, after a silent pause.

He nodded ruefully. "It's only nine," he moaned, checking the time. "If we're lucky we can get through the classrooms and come out the main entrance, but I'm not going outside in weather like that for three hours." He gestured to the windows behind them; Bellacine saw a blizzard in progress.

"Definitely not," she muttered, and Vasily laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said airily. "Maybe that we're stuck here whilst everyone else is inside, enjoying themselves- and Reinhardt probably won't dare come to let us in for an hour at least, they still think we've been caught."

"To get out of here do we go the way Rademacher went or do we use some secret passageway I don't know about?" she said dryly, after waiting for Vasily to take charge.

"The passageway, of course," he replied.

_I wasn't serious when I said- wait, what passageway?_ "What passageway?" she questioned aloud, still drier. "The one that leads to the Hermitage or the one that leads to the Kremlin?"

"Nobody ever showed you?" Vasily said in shock. "_Everyone_ knows about it, it's how we get to lunch before the rest of the school."

"I'm not in whatever class you have before lunch," she reminded him, "and no one's ever told me about a secret passageway."

"I suppose only the upperclassmen know about it," he sighed at last. "So I ought not to tell you, then- I remember now, it's one of those tricks they teach you later on- they not being teachers. The teachers don't even know this exists. But it doesn't matter you're only a fourth year, you can't use it at school regardless." Vasily went to Grindelwald's Wall and pulled on a protruding nub of stone she had never noticed before. A segment of the wall swung open.

"Impressive," she mumbled sarcastically, when she saw the pitch-black, musty smelling tunnel leading into the school.

"I know, isn't it? Follow me."

"Lay on, MacDuff," she whispered, and entered the passageway. Vasily stepped in after her and swung the entrance shut. Suddenly it was pitch black.

"_Lumos_," he said quietly, and a circle of light appeared on the floor. "Let me in front, I know where I'm going."

She allowed him to pass her and they set off down the tunnel together. It seemed to be sloping downwards, or at least the stone flags beneath her feet gave her that impression. Once, she stumbled and reached out to grasp the wall for support; it felt damp to her touch. She glanced ahead and saw Vasily's wandlight gleaming off the walls- they were indeed wet.

"Where are we?" she whispered.

"Almost to the far side of the basement- it'll start sloping up once we reach the passage to the catacombs. There it is, we're nearly out," he said in normal tones.

"_Catacombs_?" To her left was a wide double door; she edged away from it until she was brushing against the opposite wall. "No one ever told me there were catacombs here!"

"Relax, we're not going in," Vasily ordered. "No one would've had occasion to send you down into the catacombs, either. We explored them a long time ago, and from the dates we could find they haven't been used for centuries."

Bellacine shuddered. Soon after they passed the doors to the catacombs, the tunnel sloped upwards. A few minutes later they were slipping out from behind a carved wall panel into the Dark Arts classroom.

"Thank god," she said, daring to speak aloud. She knew the passageway was secret, but it gave her an eerie feeling- much safer to whisper.

"Quiet!" Now Vasily was the one speaking softly. "We're more likely to be caught in here than anywhere else in the building!"

She shrugged and sat on one of the desks. "So, now what? We stay here until midnight?"

"Probably, because there are only three ways out of here: where we just came from, directly outside, or into the hallways. If we go into the halls we'll most likely get caught. So, yes, we're staying here until midnight, and then we'll go outside, loop back to the front entrance, and find Anya there."

Bellacine shrugged again and started exploring the room. "Anything particularly interesting to do in here?" She examined all the bookshelves, checked in the desks for articles of interest abandoned in class, and was starting to wonder if she was going to die of boredom.

"Chess?" he offered. He held up a dusty box. "I found this in the cupboard."

"Why is there a chessboard in the cupboard?"

"No idea- maybe someone liked the alliteration?" Vasily laughed and pulled two of the desks together. He opened the box and lay out the board, and the pieces. "Oh, good, the kind where the pieces don't try to talk to you. I hate being told where to move. White or black?"

"Black," she said decisively.

"Because you want to go second or to reinforce the surname?" he said. "Never mind, I would've taken white all the same." He moved his pawn.

They were playing chess in the style all chess satire stems from: slowly as possible. About midway through the game she found herself staring at the board to find a good spot for her rook. After she moved, she looked up and saw Vasily watching her.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said, seeming almost embarrassed, and moved his knight. "I knew you were going to do that."

"Now, Vasily," she said sternly, "no Legilimency, it's not fair to those of us who don't know how. I'll learn in a few years and then you will never get me in check again."

"I wasn't," he responded defensively. "You know using Legilimency is unfair. And incidentally, you will not come back."

"Oh, that sounded threatening-"

"Seriously, Bella-"

She was growing tired of this, and was starting to feel ready to give in only to shut him up. "Vasily, if you can fully convince me to go back to Hogwarts either by midnight, so help me, I swear I will."

In spite of himself he smiled. "First: although I personally don't mind, you technically shouldn't be here. Not only tonight- what I really mean is that this school does not exist for foreigners to send their children, or nieces, rather, to because they want them to learn Dark Arts. This is just as much a school as Hogwarts or Beauxbatons are, or as Harfang was. Harfang ended because two professors could not settle their differences in any other way but by force. Hogwarts has not ended. If it ever does, what students remain will end up at Beauxbatons, since it's only a little water between the two.

"Secondly…Bella, do you actually _want _to learn Dark Arts, or is this family tradition speaking for you? Just because the rest of your family was working for the Dark Lord doesn't mean you have to do the same. Just because some of them were Death Eaters, you don't have to train yourself to become one."

"I don't notice you caring what you learn," she said defensively. "Isn't your uncle Antonin Dolohov? And if you hate the Dark Arts so much, walk out of class. People have done that before, and they've gotten away with it."

"There's only one person at this school who could get away with walking out on Karkaroff, and I think he could get away with anything he pleased." He moved his bishop away from hers. "I don't hate Dark Arts. But to use them against other people- against other human beings- that is very different. That is evil. One can learn Dark Arts without being evil, just as one can learn only good magic and be more evil than the Dark Arts could ever bring them to be. You know they never train us to use them on other; if we did, we'd be expelled."

She couldn't stop herself from saying it, the words rushed out of her mouth before she had a chance to think rationally. "Maybe I don't care about that. Maybe what I'm worried about is that if I go back there is someone there who would kill me. Maybe that's why I'm here: because for all the reasons I had to leave, nothing is worse than finding…something there, something that could…kill me."

Strangely, he appeared to know precisely what she was talking about, and said, "A werewolf, then-" He stopped suddenly. "I wasn't meant to know about that, was I?"

Bellacine backed away from their chessboard. "No. No, you weren't." _Anya _she screamed inside her head _you told him! How am I supposed to trust you if you go telling everyone- and I made you swear not to- what is it with my friends, they either don't trust me or I can't trust them-!_ "Anya told you," she said heavily.

"Of course not," he said. "Really, it wasn't her. You can trust her."

"Then how did you know?" she asked, accusingly. "A little bird told you?"

"You told her when I was there. You said very plainly that one of your teachers was a werewolf." It took Bellacine a few minutes before she understood the slip of logic here-

"You don't speak French."

"Oh yes I do. Badly, admittedly, but well enough to understand the gist of what you were saying," he explained. "I don't tell Anya everything I do, you know. Same as I don't tell her when I'm planning to lock her out, even though that's become more tradition than anything else. She doesn't tell me everything and I do the same for her."

She nodded and took out his rook. Mercy was not an option.

Vasily leaned forwards. "If there is a werewolf at Hogwarts- mainly, if there even is, which you haven't shown any concrete proof of- first, why haven't you told anyone, and secondly, don't you have a duty to return for the sake of your friends, to make sure no harm comes to them?"

There were three things that Durmstrang revolved around: One was loyalty. One was tradition. The third was duty. There were also an optional fourth and fifth, this being a healthy dose of scepticism, and the returning power of knowing when one was right.

Bellacine happened to know when she was right.

"Yes, I am _absolutely certain _he is a werewolf. I _know _he is. I haven't told Dumbledore because a), he's an idiot, and b), _what's going to happen to me_? Lupin will know if I tell. He'll figure it out at some point. He could already suspect."

"Your friends?" he suggested quietly.

"They're not my friends," she responded automatically. "They think because of Sirius Black I'm a murderer and a traitor and I'll sell them all out to the Dark Lord one day." Remembering Vasily likely didn't know the whole, awful story- treason, murder, whatever else lay buried in the sands of time- she related it to him. When she finished, he exhaled sadly.

"Your cousin?" he offered. "So they're not your friends, so you haven't any friends there, fine, but you do have family. Family that knows you and cares about you and you care about too, however much you avoid the place at Christmas."

He'd hit the nail on the head. As far as she was concerned, the whole of Gryffindor could fall off the face of the earth. Her family was an altogether different story. Nevertheless, she couldn't quite agree yet- some remaining granule of sheer bloody-mindedness was still there, much as it had been dispelled. "I think I'm in trouble with them," she said quietly. "Hogwarts has separate houses. My cousin and essentially the rest of my family have been in this house called Slytherin. I'm in Gryffindor, and it's something of a blood traitor house….."

"You, a blood traitor?" he said incredulously. "Not likely, not the Bella Regulovna I know. So you don't have to go back and hack your way into this Slytherin place, or however you're divided. Go back. If not for the sake of your friends, then for your family."

Vasily had a fair point and she knew it; as she mulled this over she moved her queen to the left and took out a bishop that had been surreptitiously sneaking up on her king. It was time to decide. And in life, like chess, sometimes you had to sacrifice the good of your favourite player- your queen, say- for the good of the whole.

"I'll do it. I'll go back. Much as I'll probably rue the day I made this choice, I'll go back. I have a family"-she swallowed hard-"no matter if I'm in Gryffindor or not. Congratulations, Vasily, because you won't see me change my mind like this ever again."

Vasily grinned widely and allowed his gaze to travel down to the chessboard. "Oh, look at that," he said softly. "Someone left a little loophole."

She glanced down sharply and saw it. _Idiot!_ she reprimanded herself sharply. _You should've caught that!_ It was his move, with her queen squares away from the black king, his white queen directly in position. She'd seen his bishop and failed to spot the greater danger.

He moved in. "Checkmate."

Bellacine stared at the board for several long minutes. She was aware of Vasily checking his watch repeatedly. Finally, she saw it: there was one small way out.

"Check next time you put someone in checkmate," she advised as he groaned. By the laws of chess putting someone in checkmate when it isn't actually checkmate gives him or her an automatic win. "Anything else, then? Whilst you and I both have our small victories to rejoice over?"

"Yeah," Vasily said as a clock started to toll; he crossed the room in one swift motion and threw open the door. A field of glorious white. Russia. New Year's. Russia. He shouted "Happy New Year!" into the grounds, sent the chessboard packing with one swift gesture of his wand. It was cold. But it was beautiful cold, it was black sky at midnight- beauty like this, she knew why half her family was named for stars- how could they not be, when she saw stars like flaming diamonds in the sky, flaming forever- that natural quest for immortality that was always, infinitely, human nature-

Russia. Glorious, glorious Russia, with her cold and her vast expanses of Russian sky, and Russian dirt, and sun that shone in the summer nights and stars that burnt so hard they hurt your eyes, and her wonderful, wonderful school- her Durmstrang, Bellacine's Durmstrang, her home, her country, her people, her home-

Russia. Did they have Auld Land Syne here? Never mind. Let auld acquaintance be forgot and so on, because she'd be back. This was hers.

This was what she lived for.


	9. Chapter 9 There and Black Again

**A/N: Ok, admittedly shorter than the last chapter, but that one I wanted to finish in one chapter and this...well, the cutoff point was one of those moments that requires a chapter end. For all translations of Latin phrases see the 'Foreign Words and Phrases' section of a Merriam-Webster dictionary. Otherwise I haven't much else to say.**

**Incidentally, about Harry...um...well...Just because he isn't really that smart (Now, don't give me that look, we all know it's true) doesn't mean he can't be nice at times. Or mean. Or whatever. But I still agree that punching him would be infinitely fun, albeit infinitely improbable.**

**Oh yeah: hi everyone out there who has this on a favorites/alert list and hasn't reviewed...Hi...Are you starting to feel guilty...? (Not those of you who review about half the time, which is nice, but those of you who just...don't review. Yeah.)**

**So, without further ado:**

* * *

The exact second Bellacine walked into Gryffindor Tower, Hermione dragged her to an empty corner of the common room and proceeded to read her the riot act.

"Where have you been all this time, Bellacine- two weeks? - you just run away!"

"I was in Russia. I'm allowed to visit my friends for Christmas, aren't I? I don't remember there being a law saying I have to tell you every single thing I do!" she replied scathingly.

"Oh? And isn't it a bit- funny- that you decided to run right after Fudge left the Three Broomsticks? Why did you run, especially if you hadn't done anything? Or did you go off somewhere and- and get a cursed Firebolt? Was that you?" Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously but she managed to keep her voice level.

"A Firebolt?" echoed Bellacine.

Hermione spat, "Yes! A Firebolt! You knew about that, admit it! You're trying to- to- to kill Harry or something! Just because your father's a murderer-"

Bellacine's face turned ashen with shock. "I don't want Harry dead. You know that. And I told you months ago, my father is dead. I admit it; he was a Death Eater too, but…." _How could she think I want Harry dead? How could she, when that half-breed--?_ she thought.

"Dead! Ha! You liar!"

"Liar?" she echoed, bemused. But…her father was dead, wasn't he? What on earth did she mean?

"You just don't want to admit it," Hermione said mockingly. "So instead you make up a slew of lies because you're- I don't know- ashamed or you want us to be friends with you so you can betray us too, or something. You just don't want to admit it- that your father is Sirius Black!"

_Stupid mudblood_ Bellacine thought, mouth agape, as Hermione stormed up to the girls' dorm. But she managed not to say it.

Harry found her standing there, dead still and glaring at the staircase Hermione had departed up, a few minutes later. "Hi," he said nonchalantly. "How was your Christmas?"

This being a completely different approach from the welcome she had expected, Bellacine was thrown off her guard. Careful to keep her voice as emotionless as possible, she said, "Aren't you going to accuse me of everything under the sun too?"

Harry asked what she was talking about.

"Let me see," she said in mock wonderment. "There's some bizarre thing involving a Firebolt, what brooms have to do with the world at large I don't know, my uncle, oh, and apparently I'm under some kind of house arrest courtesy Hermione Granger."

He frowned. "What does Malfoy's dad have to do with the Firebolt? He bought the Slytherin team Nimbus 2001s last year, he wouldn't buy me a Firebolt even if he is rich-"

"Okay. Malfoy- Lucius Malfoy, yes?" She waited until Harry nodded. "He doesn't have anything to do with this, I meant my other uncle."

"Your other uncle-?"

Bellacine sighed abjectly. Someone Up There was working against her, getting her stuck in this conversation the minute she came back. All she really wanted was to go to bed, have Hermione, Ron, and Harry miraculously forget the events of the Three Broomsticks and forgive her, and to kill Lupin very dead. "Sirius Black."

Harry's jaw dropped open in shock, and she winced, knowing what was coming next: Traitor, murderer, Death Eater, and everything he could throw at her would be true.

"Harry, please, he's only just my uncle, I've never even met him before cos he was in Azkaban most of my life and before that my dad, his brother, they never really got along so I've never even seen him or anything, I don't think he even knows I exist, and, well, I'm not...not like him," she finished, lamely.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I know you're not. We've all been friends with you for almost half a year, it doesn't really matter. I know that you're, er, really not bad." What he was saying was also as close as he'd ever get to apologising for the Three Broomsticks. Rather than being offended, Bellacine was personally glad he hadn't brought it up.

She visibly relaxed, and Harry gave her the Saga of the Firebolt, with all Hermione's suspicions and McGonagall's lack of understanding. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Keeper and the team captain, overheard Harry, and he went into even further detail, reiterating the Saga of Random People Trying to Kill Me, and the Saga of McGonagall Just Not Getting this Whole Quidditch Thing.

"I'll go and talk to her, Harry," promised Wood. "I'll make her see reason...A Firebolt...a real Firebolt, on our team...She wants Gryffindor to win just as much as we do...I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt..."

"Wow," Bellacine muttered as Wood wandered off. "Someone's obsessed."

Harry told her about his pep talks before Quidditch games. She actually considered banging her head against the wall.

Bellacine noticed that most people had a strong tendency to treat her as if she didn't exist, but there were a few people (previously Hermione, and now Harry) who were decent. That and visiting Anya and Vasily gave her a confidence boost strong enough to put up with anything. Even a werewolf.

* * *

Everyone resumed school the next Monday, in the midst of a snowstorm; a nice sort of storm compared to Durmstrang weather. The mood heading out to Care of Magical Creatures was apprehensive to say the least- what if Hagrid procured some vicious, cold-loving, flesh-eating creature for them to study next?—but they were perfectly fine, as were the salamanders. In Divination the third-years began palmistry. Hermione and Bellacine remained partners, so Hermione retaliated by making an exception to her 'Divination is a load of worthless lies' rule and started prophesising Bellacine's death every other day. Aside from that, Hermione ignored her.

Bellacine took great care to always be in the Defence Against the Dark Arts room before Harry arrived, and to always be the last to leave. She just knew Lupin was going to try something one day.

So when Harry remembered to ask Lupin about the anti-dementor lessons, she packed her bag as slowly as she could.

"Ah, yes, let me see," said Lupin. "How about eight o'clock in Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough...I'll have to think carefully about how we're going to do this...We can't bring a real dementor into the school, of course..."

Harry thanked Lupin, and left. Bellacine saw him join up with Ron, who had waited behind for him. They headed away down the corridor without stopping for her. She finished packing hurriedly and strode to the door.

"Bellacine, may I have a word with you?" asked Lupin. She pretended not to hear him. "Bellacine, it's about teaching you separately."

"I shall be perfectly fine on my own, thank you," she retorted with mock politeness. She edged towards the door, one hand inside her pocket for her wand.

"Ah," Lupin said softly. "Well, then, that shouldn't be a problem. I won't be able to teach you- I think you know enough already, you are certainly ahead of your own class-"

Suddenly Bellacine felt a mad desire to laugh. So she did. "You see," she said dryly, "I know too much. All my life I've known too much. I've always been like this; rarely is any provision made. And I'm not going to pretend I don't know anything when I do." She was of course referencing what she knew about Lupin, but he didn't need to know that, that was suicide. Instead she stared into his eyes; it would have been a glare but for the fact that she wasn't frowning, exactly.

"I will not be able to teach you, Bellacine; however, I will give you a chance to use what you know- better, I think, than practicing on your own. I want you to help me teach Harry to make a Patronus. It might be easier for him if there's someone his own age there who can also manage it."

She mulled it over quickly. All Bellacine's instincts shouted _No_! as loudly as possible, but the rational part of her mind said _Deal with it. Help Harry out and stay in the classroom during lessons and if that werewolf tries anything you'll kill him. Act like nothing is wrong and you'll be safer_. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Thank you, Bellacine."

She nodded stiffly and said, "May I go now?" Without waiting for a response, she left. Werewolf. She didn't want to hear anything he had to say, to her or anyone else, because nothing could assuage the crime of what he was.

* * *

Bellacine and Harry arrived at the History of Magic classroom before Lupin, who showed up five minutes later clutching a large packing case.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"Another boggart," Lupin explained. "I've been combing the castle ever since Tuesday and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real dementor. The boggart will turn into a dementor when he sees you, so you'll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when you're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he will like."

"Okay," said Harry uncertainly, and she could tell he was much more frightened than he let on to be. "Professor, why's Bella here?"

Lupin began: "I am going to teach you a charm, Harry, that will be like an anti-dementor. Now, this charm is well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm-"

"So why are you here, Bella? And, Professor, what's the Patronus Charm do?" interrupted Harry.

"In answer to your second question, it creates a Patronus. This is a sort of anti-dementor, a guardian that will stand between you and a dementor. Bellacine is here because she knows how to make one."

"You do?"

Bellacine sighed, but it was all for theatrics. "Remember the first day of Dark- I mean, Defence Against the Dark Arts? When the boggart turned into a dementor"-_After whatever happened when it wasn't there for a few moments_ she mused- "That was the Patronus Charm I used, the little silver thing."

"The little silvery thing that looked sort of like a...a cat?"

"Yeah, Harry, you need to be more observant...it was a cat." And please, please don't go into that any farther, you idiot, no one's supposed to know. Because if you actually were observant, maybe you'd catch on that that is a WEREWOLF!

"_Expecto patrono_- no, _patronum_, sorry- _expecto patronum, expecto patronum_--" Harry chanted. A bit of silvery gas, like cold air but shiny, rushed from his wand.

_Amateur_ thought Bellacine coldly.

"Did you see that? Something happened!" Harry said excitedly.

"Very good," said Lupin. "Are you ready to try it on a real dementor?"

Harry nodded stiffly; it was patently obvious he no less wanted to hear his parents' death again than she wanted to be in this room, with Lupin, a werewolf, when Ilya had been killed—She gasped suddenly, realising that whilst Harry would hear his parents, dying, she would hear Ilya dying, slowly, here, now- she couldn't stand it, not in this room, not with Lupin—

"_Expecto patronum_!" shouted Harry. "_Expecto patronum! Expecto_-"

"_Please, Bella, it hurts...oh god, it hurts, please Bella, kill me, let it stop...it hurts...oh god..."_

_"Ilya, you're not going to die! Ilya, Ilya, you're fine, you'll live, just stand up- I think your leg might be broken, it looks that way, but you're not going to die..."_

_"I am going to die, Bella...I'm dying."_

_"No! Ilya, you're going to live! You've got to live!"_

_"No, Bella, I won't make it...you've got to live for me. You still have a chance now...I'm already almost gone...Live, whatever it takes, just live...Remember me."_

The room grew clearer again like someone had flipped a light switch. Harry lay on the floor- she couldn't tell if he was unconscious, or had fallen, or worse- and Lupin, Lupin the werewolf was bent over him. She knew- she k new- he had come to kill Harry just like Greyback killed Ilya- She felt a sudden surge of hate- aimed at Lupin—

"_Av_-" she started to shout, and then Bellacine realised precisely what she was doing: If anything were to alert Lupin to the fact she knew, this would certainly be it- killing someone, or attempting to kill them, can be painfully obvious...She jerked her wand down, and a jet of greenish-blue light hit a desk in the front row.

It blew up.

Harry finally woke up, shakily grasping the desk next to the ashy remains of the other and pulling himself to his feet. "Sorry," he muttered, "I'm okay."

Bellacine surreptitiously poked the air and hissed "_Reparo_"; the desk reassembled itself. Had Lupin noticed--?

Lupin handed Harry a Chocolate Frog. "Here- eat this before we try again. I didn't expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had."

"It's getting worse," said Harry, eating the Frog. "I could hear louder that time- and him- Voldemort..."

"Harry, if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand-" began Lupin.

Harry replied fiercely that if he couldn't conjure a Patronus Gryffindor would lose any hope of winning the Quidditch Cup. She herself thought Quidditch was a rather inane reason to want to learn a Patronus, but to each his own.

"I know," Lupin said. "Bellacine, how are you doing? Are the dementors bothering you...badly, I mean...you don't have to-"

"I'm fine, Professor," she snapped. "Absolutely wonderfully fantastically fine." Harry gave her a sceptical look, but she dodged his gaze and pretended not to see.

And she kept on hearing Ilya dying, again and again, not daring to tell anyone a single thing she suspected or knew, because she couldn't trust a one. Hermione and Ron avoided or ignored her; the rest of the school (except Slytherin) avoided her as well- in all likelihood they too thought Sirius Black was her father, the idiots, and were afraid of her. She had no desire to begin 'hanging out' with the Slytherins. She'd gotten herself stuck in Gryffindor and she at least would remain there.

Oh yes, life really was lovely.

* * *

"Harry?" she asked tentatively. It was right after the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch game (Slytherin, it transpired, had won. Bellacine really couldn't care less.) which she had skipped, instead staking out the best spot in the common room to do her homework. Harry was the first person back from the pitch.

"Yeah? What is it?" he said anxiously. "I don't want to try a Patronus any more than we do with Professor Lupin, let's not practice that-"

"No, it's not that. I...well, I was wondering if..." How was she going to ask this without sounding suspicious? "Well, I was wondering if you knew anything at all about Sirius before he went to Azkaban since he's your godfather and because he's my uncle but I don't know anything about him really I thought maybe you might or you might know someone who—"

"Whoa, calm down," he ordered. "Er, I don't know that much about him aside from what we'd heard in Hogsmeade and that he was best man at my parents' wedding. I- I have a picture from that, if you like."

Bellacine looked down- she felt almost ashamed, asking, but in a way she had to. "Can I see it?"

"I'll go get it," he said at once, without giving her That Look. "Wait here, I'll bring it down."

He went up the stairs to the boys' dormitories and returned a few minutes later with a brown leather-bound photo album; brushing past the others who had returned to the common room he found a chair beside her, sat, and paged through the album. Eventually he came to a picture obviously taken at a wedding.

The man standing next to the groom had black hair and grey eyes, like his brother, like herself. His face was as smoothly arrogant as her father's, as her own. He was laughing.

"It doesn't really say much," Harry said, "but that's what he looked like before Azkaban, if you were wondering. He-er, he looks kind of like you. Don't take that the wrong way," he hurriedly advised, as she had bolted upright and opened her mouth defensively. "I just meant that he does, that there's some family resemblance there, is all. That's why Hermione thinks he's your dad, because you look alike. I didn't mean anything bad by it."

Bellacine shrugged, tight-lipped. "So those are your parents, then? The great Lily and James Potter?"

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"You know," she continued, settling back, "I have pictures of my parents too. But it's different when your parents aren't Lily and James Potter."

"Voldemort killed them too, didn't he?"

Bellacine shook her head. "No, I never implicitly said he killed them, I said they died because of him."

Harry, who had almost interrupted in confusion, asked, "What's the difference?"

"The difference between you and me," she said quietly. Now, she decided, was the good time for an exit. So she did.

* * *

Harry's fourth Patronus lesson (or whatever you would call it) was just as bad as the first three. He still only managed- at the most- an indistinct silver shadow or puff of pearly smoke, but at least he was past passing out. Occasionally Bellacine would make a Patronus just to shut up the voices in her head.

"I thought a Patronus would charge down the dementors or something," he said disappointedly. "At least make them disappear-"

"The true Patronus does that," said Lupin. "But you've achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground."

Bellacine clenched her fists and stared fixedly at a spot some feet away, scenes in her mind playing that she had no wish to ever see again.

"Here- you've earned a drink," Lupin said, smiling. How could he be smiling? "Something from the Three Broomsticks. You won't have tried it before, Harry-" He pulled three bottles of butterbeer from his briefcase.

"Butterbeer!" exclaimed Harry, idiot that he was. "Yeah, I like that—" He broke off when Bellacine kicked him under the table. Lupin cocked an eyebrow at them.

"Ron and Hermione would bring us some back from Hogsmeade," Bellacine said hurriedly, "and I brought some back from the Underground."

"The Underground?" asked Harry

She sighed dramatically whilst giving Harry a glare that told him in no uncertain terms not to ask questions. "St. Petersburg Underground, Harry, I was there this Christmas to visit my friends. I told you all of this when I came back, remember?"

"Oh, right." Harry took a bottle from Lupin.

"I see," he said, his expression remaining suspicious. "Well, let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I'm supposed to take sides, as a teacher, but…."

They sat in silence for a while, until Harry suddenly wondered, "What's under a dementor's hood?"

Lupin slowly lowered his bottle. "Well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon."

"What's that?"

"They call it the Dementor's Kiss," said Lupin, smiling ironically. "It's what dementors do when they wish to destroy something utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws, as such, on the mouth of the victim and- and suck out his soul."

Bellacine gasped slightly and dug her nails into her palms to keep herself from saying something she'd regret. To think it was her family in there. They were the ones slowly going insane there, they were the ones hearing every day the equivalent of what she heard once a week. And it was her family's souls that could be drawn out through their mouths any time.

She wondered how it felt.

"He deserves it," said Harry suddenly, and she knew him to be talking about Sirius Black.

"You think so?" Lupin said lightly. "Do you really think anyone deserves that?"

"Yes," said Harry, "for some things…."

And then Bellacine decided that she didn't much care if she said something she'd regret and went ahead and said, "No."

"What?"

"No," she repeated firmly. "No one deserves that. They're all human. They're only human. People aren't evil, people aren't something you can look at and label 'evil' or 'good' because people _change_. If you're destroying their souls, or having their souls destroyed, which is just as bad, then they can't change. Ever. Nothing gives anyone- _anyone or anything_- the right to do something like that." She stood, finished the last of her butterbeer in one gulp, dropped it in the wastebasket, and walked off.

"What's up with her?" she heard Harry ask the werewolf.

She heard Lupin sigh. "I think her family-"

Bellacine stalked back to the now-closed door and slammed open the door into the wall. "There is a saying, _homo sum: humani nil a me alienum puto._" Harry looked at her uncomprehendingly. "There are very many people in the world who can't agree with the second half of that statement. There are some people in the world who not only cannot concur with the second, but also cannot concur with the first." Bellacine kept her eyes on Lupin's when she said this; he blinked in shock and looked away. As good as a confession. She knew, he knew, he knew she knew, she knew he knew she knew.

As she returned to Gryffindor Tower, she wondered what on Earth had possessed her to practically tell Lupin she knew he was a werewolf. Practically telling him he wasn't human. Well, he wasn't…what was she supposed to do?

* * *

Gryffindor won the next Quidditch match- this time against Ravenclaw- and the victory was even sweeter, for Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain all dressed up as dementors in an attempt at sabotage. Harry had thought they were real dementors, and managed to make something very close to a Patronus, the closest he had ever managed.

She hadn't bothered to tell Lupin Patronuses were easier if you weren't concentrating completely on the task at hand; better to have your mind on something else- less time to worry.

There was a rowdy party in the common room that night, with Fred and George and a friend of theirs, Lizzie, mysteriously vanishing and reappearing half an hour later, their arms full of butterbeer and sweets. Hermione, the only person not enjoying the festivities, sat in a corner chair with an enormous hardcover, _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_. Harry went over to have a word with her, and she appeared to be developing a slightly more agreeable mood, when Ron said loudly,

"If Scabbers hadn't just been eaten he could have had some of those Fudge Flies. He used to really like them-"

Hermione burst into tears and fled to the dormitory. Bellacine almost followed her upstairs, then decided not to: it wasn't like Hermione was any more likely to be civil now.

The party only ended at one in the morning when Professor McGonagall showed up (in tartan dressing gown) and ordered them all to go to bed, and go to bed _now_. Bellacine, who had found a post in one of the armchairs away from the fire didn't have the energy or the urge to get up, so remained she there. She set her wand and a few textbooks on the table and considered studying. Apparently butterbeer didn't contain much in the way of caffeine, because she was soon fast asleep, dreaming.

_She was on the foredeck of the main ship, the Hesperus, with Anya, Vasily, his friends, and some of the others. She recognized the scene, it was the first day of school the previous year. Bellacine kept asking everyone where Ilya was, but no one even seemed to hear her. Finally Vasily said to her, "He doesn't exist. He doesn't exist because you forgot about him. He told you to remember him and you haven't. You don't care about any of them, you just forget them once they're out of your life." Bellacine turned away, and saw a large wave bearing down on the ship. Someone behind her shouted, and she shot awake._

There were footsteps pounding down the staircase from the boys' rooms. She slowly stood up. Then the door slammed open and a black-haired man dashed into the room.

"Bellatrix?" he asked, his voice croaky and stiff from lack of use. An insane smile started to light his skeletal face.

It was Sirius Black. She was so dead.

"No- no- not me," she gasped. Bellacine felt for her wand and realised it wasn't there. Black held a knife in one thin hand. "Please don't kill me," she whispered desperately. _I'm dead. I'm so dead_.

They both froze as footsteps began to pound again overhead.

"I have no intention of killing you," he croaked.

They heard loud, anxious voices.

Black picked up a thin piece of wood from the table. Her wand. She'd set it there.

"I really am sorry..this is for your own good, whoever you are. You won't remember ever seeing me. I'll wipe your memory, I'll even leave the wand here.

"Stupefy!"

As he ran from the room, Bellacine fell slowly backward, already unconscious.


	10. Chapter 10 Red Sky in the Morning

A/N: This is a miracle in my world, I'm actually managing to update at decent intervals. School is getting out soon, so I'll try to get one more chapter up before that, but then production will slow down. 

Anyway...yeah, I really don't like writing Quidditch games, if you've noticed that I manage to skip most of them...what is there to say? People fly around, people score, people catch small winged objects, total armageddon occurs... 

* * *

She could feel the glow of light through her closed eyelids.

Wherever she was, it seemed to be half-lit. She could tell she was laying down, aside from that, not much else. A bit afraid of what she would see, Bellacine slowly opened her eyes.

She was laying in a bed in the hospital wing, the only patient, as such, there. Sitting on an empty bed beside hers- she could hardly believe her eyes- was Hermione, being typical Hermione and doing her homework. Bellacine yawned a little.

Hermione looked up from her books and, seeing her friend awake, lit the lamp near her bed.

"Ow," muttered Bellacine, squinting her eyes shut against the brightness. "What happened to me?" She sat up, leaning against the headboard. "What's going on?"

"Long story," Hermione said softly, as though nervous of attracting Madam Pomfrey's attention. "Last night Sirius Black broke into the tower, into the boys' dormitories. And he almost would have killed Ron, but Ron yelled, and he _ran_. Everyone went down to the common room and you were already there, kind of slumped in a chair, so we thought you must be asleep. But when Professor McGonagall asked Sir Cadogan if he let anyone in, and he said yes, it turned out when Neville wrote down the passwords for the week he lost them somehow. So Neville started thinking that you let Black in or something like that, you know what Neville's like about you; Professor McGonagall went to wake you up- and you _wouldn't wake up_."

"I'm getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu; I almost think I remember this...but I don't." Bellacine frowned in concentration. But all she could wonder now was, why was Hermione, who suspected her of Merlin-knows-what, sitting here, chatting as if there had never been any disagreement between them? "Look, Hermione, sorry to ask you this, but..." Trying not to take the offensive but too tired and out of it to really care, she mumbled, "Ever since I came back from Christmas you've been mad at me and treating m like I've no right to exist, then all of a sudden I wake up and you're talking to me again like we're the best of friends. So what kind of mixed-up logic is that?"

Hermione's eyes started to well up with tears. "Bella- Bella, you could have died, and I've been such a- such an idiot and you could have been killed, or worse, and—I'm sorry!"

"S'okay," she muttered, understanding her friend truly was sorry, and quite glad things could attempt normalcy now. Half an hour later, after a heated argument with Madam Pomfrey, they escaped the hospital wing. "How long was I asleep for? It's- what- almost noon now?"

"Almost ten at night, Rip van Winkle. Madam Pomfrey said you'd been Stunned, and she told Dumbledore it would be better for you to wake up naturally than to put more magic into your system," she said.

A frown flashed across her face and stuck there as Bellacine's eyes widened. "Hermione, what day is today? Not the day of the week, but the date." Gears turned rapidly in her mind- time, date, where would he be—

"It's the twenty-sixth of February."

"Oh no," she breathed, too afraid to do anything but want to run.

"What is it?"

"Hermione," Bellacine said, and she was amazed her voice was so even, "go to the common room, now. Tell anyone you see along the way to go to their common room and stay there all night. Tell everyone in Gryffindor to stay in the tower all night. Make absolutely sure Harry is there, and preferably Ron too. Don't let anyone leave."

Hermione stared at her, a frown slowly creasing her forehead. "You know, don't you? It's a full moon tonight...About—"

"Do not say it!" she hissed. "We don't want anyone hearing us. We're probably not even supposed to know- well, of course we're not supposed to know, that's obvious, but if we're overheard I think I know what'll happen to us, and it's not something I'd wish on anyone." Bellacine started to slide around the corridor wall, until she noticed Hermione following her. "Go away. Go back to the common room."

"You are not doing something this recklessly stupid on your own," she retorted. "If any one of us goes, we both go. You could have died just last night and now you're- what? Planning to wander around the castle looking for a werewolf because you're worried about the rest of us- very nice, I admit, but incredibly stupid."

"No one else is going to die, and it's not going to be my fault if someone does. Go back to the common room," she demanded again.

Hermione started to glower resistantly, but the expression crossing her face slowly froze. "What do you mean, no one else will die? Who died?"

"Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow? Don't give me that look- I'm not changing the subject. Answer the question already."

"No, I didn't feel like going alone- Ron's mad at me, he thinks Crookshanks ate Scabbers, but he didn't , and if he did, it doesn't matter, that's what cats do! Yeah, I didn't sign up because of that, I didn't really care to go."

"Meet me in the library, then. One o'clock. We have to talk." Bellacine hesitated momentarily, then began to walk in the direction of the common room. Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief and set off after her.

"About what?"

"About why I left Durmstrang in the first place," she replied.

* * *

The next Saturday she found Hermione at a table close to the Restricted Section of the library, with stacks of books piled high on either side of her. It looked like she had half the contents of the library sitting within arm's reach. Bellacine sat down across from Hermione and lifted a book from the top of the stack.

"Muggle Studies? That used to be my favourite class. I wonder why I didn't sign up for it this year...What are you doing with all those books? It's February, for Merlin's sake, exams are months away."

"They're weapons, used to whap really annoying people over the head when they interrupt my homework time. And for your information, I actually do my homework outside of class, unlike certain people who do everything under their desk in History of Magic. Bellacine, that's meant to apply to you, you know." Bellacine stared innocently at the desk until Hermione slammed her Arithmancy textbooks shut with a sigh.

She continued flipping through the Muggle Studies book until her friend coughed expectantly. "Yes?"

"You told me to show up for a reason, so talk."

"Where am I supposed to start?" _Where? How am I going to tell her everything in a few minutes? How am I supposed to tell a mudblood about a pureblood school and expect her to understand without asking questions? How can I make her understand?_

"Start with Karkaroff. You've mentioned him before."

"Karkaroff. He was a Death Eater; he was in Azkaban for a few months and got himself out cos he ratted out half the old crowd; this was a few months before the Dark Lord fell. He's not a Death Eater more, not in the strictest sense of the word.

"As a teacher: he played favourites, he was judgemental, he was completely unfair most of the time, he was kind of racist if you know what I mean, and he was one of the best teachers at Durmstrang."

"What'd he teach?" inquired Hermione. "Or was he just headmaster, like Dumbledore is?"

Looking her square in the eye, Bellacine replied, "He taught. He taught a class that in all likelihood will never be taught at this school; he taught Dark Arts."

"_What_?" yelped Hermione.

"What?"

"But- Dark Arts- Bella, that's..."

Bellacine shrugged. "No, not really. Think about it. You have to know what you're up against, right? You have to learn what you're fighting to fight it properly. Yeah, you're learning stuff like the Unforgivables, but we all knew if we actually tried anything on someone else we'd be expelled. People have been expelled; you also lean self-control because it teaches you you can't go around shouting them at people you don't like."

"So...you left because you didn't want to learn the Dark Arts?" said Hermione, looking impressed and pleased. Bellacine shook her head and started to tilt back on the back legs of her chair. "Why, then?"

"It was the last night before school let out for the summer. Normally everyone would be running around like maniacs, packing, talking to all your friends, you know how it is. Usually on the last night we'd have this unofficial sort of Quidditch tournament; the year before last the team I was on won.

"So no one expected anything out of the ordinary, and then all of a sudden it's the feast on the last night- not as much of a big deal as I've heard it is here, Durmstrang doesn't have houses like Hogwarts does- and Karkaroff's telling us we're not allowed to go outside tonight. Nobody. What he doesn't tell us is why. I guess to get what happened next, you'll have to understand, Karkaroff- well, the way to put it is probably he was the sort of person you don't take seriously outside of class.

"By now it's eight, a bit closer to nine, o'clock, but it's still light out cos of the beliye nochi and all. Everyone's packed so we're just standing around aimlessly, and then I- I go to Anya, say...why don't we all go outside anyway? She's like no, Karkaroff told us not to, but since when has anyone listened to Karkaroff?

"We all end up heading outside- me, Anya, some of her brother's friends, their cousin Anton who no one likes much but we put up with him since he's good, the other team's Seeker, couple of other people- I don't remember who, just that we didn't have enough, we only had two Chasers on a team, and my friend Ilya, who was our Seeker.

"We're all playing Quidditch, it's getting late and they're starting to say we ought to go inside, and there are clouds covering up the sky, it's getting really dark. Ilya's almost got the Snitch. All of a sudden the clouds go back and it's a full moon and he's falling..."

Hermione looked up at her, her face aghast. "Oh ,Bella..." She reached out across the table, but Bellacine shrugged away.

"Don't stop me. Just let me talk. Well, he fell off his broom and essentially crashed on the ground. There- there was- there was a werewolf. It bit him. I don't know why, or if there really was a reason why. I don't know if it was an accident or if it actually meant to kill him, but in the end, Ilya died. Karkaroff had known there was a werewolf there, in the area, but I was the one who convinced them to go outside..." Bellacine trailed off.

Hermione sat silently for a few moments, completely at a loss. Finally, she asked, "Who else here knows?"

"Dumbledore does. He probably told all the teachers too, because Lupin knows. He told Harry- not anything particular, just that one of my friends was, well, murdered, and that's why I'm here."

"Oh. Okay." She stood and went around the table to Bellacine. "Are you okay, or would you like to stay here?"

Suddenly Bellacine was very grateful for whatever had transpired the night before she woke up in the hospital wing, if it brought back a friend. She stood as well and said, "No, I'm fine. C'mon, I 'm hungry, let's go find lunch."

* * *

They weren't the only third years remaining at Hogwarts, as she had expected they would be. When they came to the Great Hall, Neville was seated, isolated, at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

"What's he doing here?" muttered Bellacine.

"Professor McGonagall banned him from going into Hogsmeade for the rest of the year. When Sirius Black broke into the tower last week, he got past Sir Cadogan because he had a list of the week's passwords. Neville wrote the passwords down and left them laying out, that's how Black got them."

"I see," she replied. "So he can't go into Hogsmeade?"

"Just how oblivious are you?"

"Very oblivious, it's my middle name. Fine, so it's not my middle name, we don't need to get into that. Remind me never to tell you. Just pretend my middle name's oblivious- actually, I think that would be an improvement. You really don't want to know...my family has this tradition with names, I'm just incredibly grateful I didn't get it for a first name."

Hermione gave her a curious look but she turned away; they took seats together at the table end farthest away from Neville. Midway through her Yorkshire pudding she looked up and saw a tawny brown school owl hovering over Hermione's head. She coughed and gestured upwards.

"What-? Oh! An owl!"

"Go on, see what it says," ordered Bellacine.

Hermione caught the owl and relieved it of a scroll tied to its leg.

_Dear Hermione (and Bellacine)_

_We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts._

_Execution date to be fixed._

_Beaky has enjoyed London._

_I won't forget all the help you gave us._

_Hagrid_

"Beaky?" inquired Bellacine.

"Buckbeak, his hippogriff. Hagrid went to the Ministry today for the trial. Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures- they though Buckbeak was a 'dangerous creature' just because he hurt Malfoy! Well, if Malfoy was enough of an idiot to insult him just when Hagrid said not to, he deserves it!" Hermione was sitting straight up, her expression harsh and her bushy hair starting to puff out.

"Calm down." Bellacine pushed back the bench. "Let's go find Harry and Ron- see if they're here, and Harry better be- they ought to know what's going on, even if Ron won't talk to you," she added, correctly interpreting the expression on Hermione's face. "We'll check the common room first."

They had only turned down the Fat Lady's corridor when Ron and Harry turned the corner at the other end.

"It's my fault, I persuaded you to go," Ron was saying. "Lupin's right, it was stupid, we shouldn't have done it."

"What's Lupin got to do with anything?" Bellacine asked quickly. "Oh, forget it- you went into Hogsmeade again, Harry, didn't you?"

Harry nodded sheepishly.

"Well then-"

"Come to have a good gloat?" Ron interrupted, nodding towards Hermione, who was going teary-eyed. Hagrid's letter was getting wetter by the second. "Or have you just been to tell on us?"

"No," said Hermione. Her lips started to tremble. "I just think you ought to know...Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed. He- he sent us this." She held out the letter, but neither boy accepted it. Finally Bellacine stepped up, removed the letter from Hermione's grip, and held it out to Harry.

They read it quickly. "They can't do this," Harry said angrily. "Buckbeak isn't dangerous!"

"Malfoy's dad frightened the Committee into it," Hermione sniffed. "You know what he's like. They're a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. Only I can't see any hope...nothing will have changed." She sniffed again, harder.

"Yeah it will. You won't have to do all the work alone this time," Ron said, almost without realising it. "I'll help, Hermione," he added after an awkward lull.

"Oh, Ron!"

Hermione flung herself at Ron, hugged him, and broke down sobbing. A look of absolute terror spread over his face, and he patted her self-consciously on the back. Finally, she let go.

"Ron, I'm really, really sorry about Scabbers..."

"Oh-well-he was old," he replied, looking thoroughly happy not to have a girl sobbing on his shoulder any longer. "And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now." Then he smiled feebly at Bellacine. "Er...you know, you're not that bad, for a Black."

"Shall I go to all the bother of acting insulted," Bellacine asked, grinning, "or shall we all be friends again?"

"Definitely the latter," Hermione, Ron, and Harry all said together.

* * *

A few nights later, they were all doing their homework at the common room tables when Bellacine said to Hermione, "You know, I'm very proud of you and all, but you might have shown a bit more consideration."

"Well, I'm sorry if I hit Malfoy, but he had it coming to him. I'm tired of him mocking Hagrid and I don't want to have to put up with it any longer."

"Hermione," she sighed exasperatedly, "you slapped my cousin. I don't care. I repeat: I don't care. That was one of the most hysterically funny things that ever happened, except maybe this one incident with a yo-yo that apparently believed in spontaneous combustion- never mind. Then you skipped Charms—"

"I didn't skip, I overslept!" Hermione said defensively."

"Yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge. Then you walk out of Divination. Now this in itself is a Very Good Thing, but this is where I come to the consideration bit: Because you quit, I'm stuck with Neville as my partner. Neville Longbottom, a.k.a. He-Who-Seriously-Hates-Me-For-Reasons-Undisclosed. In one class alone he has already invented several painful ways for me to die, also something involving house-elves, also something involving a hijab, and a few more slow-and-painful deaths."

"Sounds like fun," Ron whispered. She glowered at him.

* * *

The Easter holidays were very far in the opposite direction from relaxing; although at least Bellacine had been expecting them over Orthodox Easter, so she already had her homework done. Hermione, who still had a bizarrely large amount of homework to do, worked hard the whole time to get everything done. Harry too was working hard, what with the number of Quidditch practices Wood had imposed- the final match, against Slytherin, was fast approaching- and Ron was busy perusing anything that could help Buckbeak's case.

Bellacine was absolutely positive that all of Hogwarts was quickly entering the realms of insanity over Quidditch. Inter-House warfare, she imagined, had never reached such a pinnacle. In the next week alone, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin had leeks sprouting from their ears, courtesy one not-so-well placed jinx.

Finally, the day arrived. She, Ron, and Hermione traipsed out to the pitch a few minutes after Harry. The teams were already in the locker rooms, changing. The sun was blinding- the weather had been impeccable leading up to the match, thank Merlin.

Soon enough it was seventy-ten. Lee Jordan screaming himself hoarse and almost every Gryffindor or Slytherin player having large objects pelted at them, or crashed into by the opposing side.

Harry almost had the Snitch- almost- then Bellacine could just see Draco zoom up behind him and yank back the Firebolt- then the flicker of gold was gone. She started shouting Russian swears at the top of her lungs. Gryffindor took the penalty shot, missed, then Slytherin scored again.

"Go, Harry, get it now, you're sixty ahead…." she muttered. Then the entire crowd seemed to simultaneously turn their heads to the far end of the field: Draco, diving towards a shimmering spot.

Bludgers flew at the two Seekers from both directions, impossible to tell who from, Harry kicked his broom faster- she thought he was close, but perspective was messed up from this point of view- he let go of the broom completely-

"GET IT, HARRY!"

There was a second of absolute silence-

"YES!"

"THEY GOT IT! HE GOT IT! WE WON, WE WON!!"

An explosion of red slowly sank back down to earth and was engulfed by a wave of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw students and teachers- Hagrid, covered from head to toe (a rather long distance) in red- McGonagall, sobbing into a Gryffindor banner- Ron and Hermione, grinning like maniacs—

She walked out of the bleachers and away from the Quidditch pitch; there would be time enough to celebrate later. She laughed and punched the air. They won! Not that she had that much in the way of House spirit, but euphoria like that filling the stands tended to spread.

A familiar voice interrupted her ruminations.

"If you're quite done with the one-person after party," Draco sighed. He was sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard, half in shadow, watching her unhappily.

"What do you want?"

"Go away."

"No, see, I like annoying people."

His gaze seemed to focus on her. "You're not wearing red. You didn't go back to Gryffindor Tower with everyone else."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a communist."

"Huh?"

"Red. It means communist."

Draco shrugged and moved his Nimbus Two thousand One off the bench. She took a seat without his spoken invitation. "What'd you go getting yourself put in Gryffindor for?" Bellacine glared sternly at him. "No, seriously, why did you go off and make friends with Potter and Weasley and the mudblood for?"

"Look, if you're going to tell me who I'm supposed to be friends with, you can shut up now. You don't have any real friends, you just have two golems who follow you around and do your bidding," Bellacine said. "I have friends, here and at Durmstrang. Real friends."

"Then why did you leave?"

"You know perfectly well why I left."

"Seriously, it's not fair. Mother wouldn't let me go to Durmstrang but of course, you get to go there. You get to do anything you want and they just treat me like a kid." He kicked at his broom where it lay on the ground.

"Has it ever occurred to you that it's because they don't care about you?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "They care plenty about you. They were worried when you didn't come home at Christmastime. It's not like they're planning to kick you out because you're in Gryffindor." Draco turned to look directly at her. "You are coming back home this summer, right?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. I can't show up in St. Petersburg for the whole summer, that would be kind of rude."

"Good. Know what?" She raised an eyebrow. "You need to play Quidditch again. You were really good when we used to play. I wouldn't mind playing against you, instead of Potter."

"You know I don't play anymore- and if I did, I wouldn't be Seeker."

"And you know what? You need to get over it." He cast a sideways glance at the elephant in the courtyard. "You-"

"GO AWAY!"

"Fine." He rose and walked a few steps away from her, then stopped and nudged something towards her with is foot. "Here. Give it back tomorrow."

When she looked up a good deal of time later, the Nimbus was lying before her. She picked it up and walked to the Quidditch pitch; it was quite deserted except for the scattered remnants of green and red that lay about the stands. The sun had almost sunk below the horizon.

Bellacine stood in the center of the field, facing into the sunset, feeling the wind. She kicked off from the hard ground.

A few slow circles around the stadium to get the hang of flying again, weaving through the goalposts at either end and it was near dark now; she streaked faster and faster, laughing, whooping. She had forgotten how good this felt.

She flew higher and higher, and then, with nowhere else of any interest to go, flew towards the Forbidden Forest. Over a gap between the trees, Bellacine glanced down and saw four-legged creatures moving through the undergrowth. She recognized them immediately- thestrals.

She spiraled down and dismounted onto a layer of dead leaves: This section of the forest seemed deserted by human life. The thestrals stared at her curiously. They had the appearance of reanimated dinosaur skeletons, though much smaller, and were gathered around the carcass of a fox. The thestrals abandoned the fox and encircled her.

"H-hello." The single word hung in the heavy stillness of the air. One of them stepped closer. She extended her hand to it; it nipped softly at her fingers. "I'm Bella Regulovna." She did not know why she felt the compulsion to introduce herself like this, Russian style as taught long ago by Anya.

Suddenly, the sound of hoof beats broke the still air. All the thestrals except for the one still nibbling her fingers glided away, half flying. Through the trees she could see horse-like shapes moving towards her in the dim light. Bellacine took out her wand.

A herd of centaurs- no, not exactly a herd, as there were less than ten- armed with strung crossbows, stepped into the small clearing. "What business have you in this forest, human?" asked the centaur in the lead.

She nervously looked from centaur to centaur, many of them still holding their crossbows on her; she stepped forward and lay her wand down on the forest floor in a gesture of surrender. "I'm...I was just flying over the forest and I looked down and I could see thestrals down here and I came down just to see them..."

"Who are you?" demanded another rudely. The first centaur seemed surprised.

"You see the thestrals? Who are you, human?" he repeated.

The thestrals behind her stepped forwards; Bellacine felt its footsteps and heard a faint clacking noise of bone. "Bella Regulovna."

The first centaur: "You lie, human."

"How do I lie?"

He spoke again, whilst the other centaur who had spoken frowned. "You are English. You are not Russian. Give me your English name, and your surname, and we shall let you pass. But be warned: this is not your land, human. Do not come into this place again, lest you be not so fortunate. "

"Bellacine Black," she said brazenly, hoping he would not choose to comment on her family, on Sirius Black- if centaurs knew of such things-

"Bellacine Black, the daughter of Regulus Black. You are the girl from Durmstrang. You can see thestrals- of course, I remember. Dumbledore is a good man, he tells us many things. We will see you to the forest edge, the thestrals also, I think, and then you will leave us. Be careful- there have been dangerous creatures in this forest, no one can say precisely what. Even you need to be careful."

"There are dangerous creatures in the castle too, sir," said Bellacine. "There are humans, and there are monsters." She picked up her wand from the forest floor; the centaur herd departed but for the first and a few others, who followed her to the edge. She was not sure if they followed for her safety or to make sure she left. Only when Bellacine stepped out of the trees did she realise the thestrals had vanished long ago.

Seeing her confused glance, the centaur smiled a little. "They do not like the light." Although the last vestiges of sunlight had disappeared from the sky whilst she was in the forest, the sky was still tinged pale gold.

Bellacine nodded, and a question came to mind that had first occurred to her in the 'horseless' carriages that they took from the Hogsmeade train station into Hogwarts. "Do you know exactly what they are?" she asked. "Thestrals?"

"What is a human, exactly? What is a centaur?" he replied. "Of course there is speculation. They have an excellent sense of direction; some say they guard your islands of Atlantis and Buyan- you know that name, Bellacine Regulovna Black. Others see other traits: they recognise people they have never seen, their taste for blood- they do not harm or kill, only partake of remains they come across- also, their appearance" –_or lack of it_- "draws much attention...as they can only be seen by those who have seen death come."

Not that she had expected a straightforward answer...

"Some say their minds are the spirits of the dead..."

Bellacine gave Draco his broom back later that night. Asleep, she dreamt again the nightmare of Durmstrang and Ilya absent; the next morning the sky was the colour of blood.


	11. Chapter 11 Thou Art Peter

**Well, another chapter up before exams...I'm not quite sure when I had the time to type this; there may be a few holes in the space-time continuum at my house, judging from the general state of things. Anyway...as you can tell, the next few chapters will have a lot more from the book, seeing as this really is the main part, so bear with me...**

**Again, a disclaimer, because I can: Logic, people, logic. It's really not that hard to- dare I say it- _think_.**

* * *

Exams were easy, Bellacine couldn't see what Hermione had been stressing about, test-wise. Otherwise, there was of course Buckbeak's appeal (although she didn't know Hagrid as well as Hermione, Harry and Ron did, she felt a sense of responsibility as it was her cousin's fault the hippogriff was going to die) on the last day of exams, the sixth, and an executioner would be coming. She had expected no less of the Ministry.

First was Transfiguration, transforming a teapot into a tortoise (not a turtle, as she discovered when Hermione spent dinner and the entire evening freaking out), not too hard, although there were a few willow-patterned shells and s flame-breathing chihuahua incident that was solely Neville's fault.

Next, they had Care of Magical Creatures, which turned out to be the easiest of all: keep a flobberworms alive for an hour. Bellacine promptly stuck hers in a bucket with a leaf of lettuce, ditched it, and went to talk with her friends. Hermione was watching her flobberworms like Big Brother to make sure it was still alive. Hagrid came to their table and bent over Harry's worm under the pretence of checking it.

"Beaky's gettin' a bit depressed," said Hagrid quietly. "Bin cooped up too long. But still...we'll know day after tomorrow- one way or the other..."

He wandered away, looking quite as depressed as 'Beaky' was described to be.

She thought Potions was easy (it really was, just a Confusing Concoction) but Harry did horribly, forgetting to add a bezoar at the very end, so she didn't say anything. That night was Astronomy, also easy, although she had to appreciate the brilliance of having exams at midnight when the next day held two more tests- History of Magic and Herbology.

Thursday morning was Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Lupin had arranged a little obstacle course outside in the sun; it was compiled of a small pool with a grindylow, Red Caps, a small patch of marsh that held a hinkypunk, and a trunk containing a boggart. It was all as simple as every other final until she climbed into the trunk. The first time she had faced a boggart at Hogwarts without Lupin in the room; the first time she saw her boggart- it was Lupin, or course.

Somehow her hatred of Lupin made it easier to defeat the boggart- fear, yes, there was fear, but much more too. She supposed it was harder for people who were terrified, and only terrified, of their boggart: Take Ron, for instance, or Neville.

Bellacine climbed out of the trunk a few minutes later; Lupin smiled vaguely at her. Apparently he could not see inside the trunk by some magical means, only know if the student succeeded or failed, which she was grateful for.

"Excellent, Bellacine. Full marks."

She ignored him and waited under a tree for Harry, who did very well; Ron, who was mislead by the hinkypunk; and Hermione, who did perfectly until she burst out of the trunk screaming.

"Hermione! What is it?"

"P-Professor McGonagall," Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. "Sh-she said I'd failed everything!"

After they managed to calm Hermione down, the four of them drifted up towards the castle. Waiting at one door was Cornelius Fudge- the Minister for Magic, whatever he was doing here. As he greeted Harry whilst they hovered uncertainly behind their friend, he explained he was at Hogwarts for Buckbeak's appeal (and presumed execution).

Eventually they were able to get into the castle for lunch; soon it was time for Bellacine, Ron, and Harry to leave for their very last exam, Divination. They went to the trapdoor- or, rather, as close as they could get, because everyone was seated on the spiral staircase reviewing Unfogging the Future and trying to invent a few good, suitably tragic omens of death to predict.

Professor Trelawney was seeing them all separately, probably to decrease the chances of someone else calling her out as a fraud, as the majority opinion was. (Heaven forbid you mentioned that in front of Lavender or Parvati. They had given Hermione a run for her money as a teacher's pet in that class- or they would have, if Hermione had cared.) The line moved very slowly; Ron kept checking his watch, and she knew he was counting down the time until Buckbeak's appeal. An hour later he was called up, and departed with the air of a prisoner headed towards the electric chair, leaving she and Harry alone on the staircase.

"What are you going to say?" Harry asked nervously. Trelawney had forbidden any of them to tell the others what it was like after taking the exam.

Bellacine shrugged. "Lie, I suppose. Say you're going to die soon, or someone else will."

He laughed. "That sounded threatening."

"No- no, I didn't mean someone else would die, I meant for you to predict that-" Bellacine studied Harry's face. "You knew that, didn't you."

Twenty minutes later Ron exited, looking very much relieved to be out of the Divination room. Bellacine ascended the ladder. The exam was just as horribly boring and patience-testing as Divination had been all year. She hadn't ever seen anything in a crystal ball before and doubted she ever would, so she invented a long, pointless story that was actually one of Beedle the Bard's fairy tales mixed up, with an extra few omens of doom, death, and the apocalypse.

She waved at Harry as she headed back to the common room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting. Hermione held a soggy letter in her hands and looked shocked. She held it out to Bellacine.

It was a letter from Hagrid, that much was obvious, but the parchment was so tear-stained and the letters so shaky she could not decipher it. She handed it back to Hermione, who read aloud:

"Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sundown. Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it. Hagrid."

Just then Harry walked into the almost-empty common room. Hermione wordlessly handed him Hagrid's note. He read it through quickly and immediately said, "We've got to go. He can't just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!"

"Sunset, though," mumbled Ron, who was staring out the window at Hagrid's cabin, the look on his face glazed. "We'd never be allowed...'specially you, Harry..."

"We'll have to stay here, then," Bellacine said. "You can go visit him tomorrow, he'll understand. He just told you himself he doesn't want you coming down."

Harry shook his head resolutely and sank into one of the armchairs. "No, I think we should go...you can stay behind if you like...If only we had the Invisibility Cloak..."

"Where is it?" Hermione asked at once.

Harry told the two girls about his last trip into Hogsmeade- he had before, but not about Snape and the Cloak- and finished, saying, "If Snape catches me near there ever again, I'm in serious trouble."

"That's true," said Hermione, heading over to the portrait of the Fat Lady. "If he sees you...How do you open the witch's hump again?"

"You- you tap it and say '_Dissendium'_. But-"

She didn't even stay to hear the completion of Harry's sentence; she ducked out the portrait hole and returned fifteen minutes later with the Cloak stuffed under her arm.

"Hermione, I don't know what's gotten into you lately!" Ron exclaimed. "First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor Trelawney-"

Hermione grinned, looking flattered, as they headed down to dinner. Afterwards they hid in an empty room off the entrance hall; only when they were quite sure no one else was there did they slip under Harry's Cloak and sneak through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin. Harry knocked twice.

Hagrid answered after a moment, and scanned the area in front of his hut; Harry hissed, "It's us! We're wearing the Invisibility Cloak, let us in and we can take it off!" Hagrid moved aside to allow them in and quickly shut the door.

He wasn't crying, but he looked completely lost as Harry folded up his Cloak. "Wan' some tea?" Hagrid said hopelessly, shaking a little as he took out the kettle.

"Where's Buckbeak, Hagrid?"

"I-I took him outside," said Hagrid, accidentally pouring milk on the table instead of into as jug. "He's tethered in me pumpkin patch. Though he oughta see the trees an'- an' smell fresh air before-" The milk jug slipped from between his huge hands and shattered.

_Don't cry over spilt milk,_ she thought pensively.

"There's another one in the cupboard," Hagrid murmured, collapsing into a chair. Bellacine lit the fire in the stove.

"...Dumbledore's gonna come down while it- while it happens. Wrote me this mornin'. Says he wants ter- ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore..."

Bellacine got out five mugs for tea; Hermione, who was rummaging through the cupboard for another mug, straightened with a small sob. "We'll stay with you too, Hagrid-"

"Yeh're ter go straight back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don' wan' yeh watchin'. An' yeh shouldn' be down here anyway...If Fudge and Dumbledore catch yeh out wi'out permission, Harry, yeh'll be in big trouble," said Harid with an air of melancholy, and he shook his great shaggy head as if his ears were full of water.

Hermione picked up a milk jug from the counter and went to pour in milk. She glanced inside and let out a shriek- "Ron! I- I don't believe it- it's Scabbers!"

"What are you _talking_ about?"

She upended the milk jug over Hagrid's kitchen table and a scrawny, frantically squealing rat tumbled out onto the rough table. "Scabbers!" Ron exclaimed, sounding as if he wasn't sure if this was real or not. "Scabbers, what are you doing?" He picked up the rat and held him to the light.

Scabbers was thinner than ever, and a good deal of his fur had fallen out, lending him the appearance of an ancient stuffed animal, completely forgotten and discarded. He writhed frenziedly in Ron's hands, as if trying to free himself; what from, she could not guess.

"It's okay!" said Ron. "No cats, Scabbers! There's nothing here to hurt you!"

Perhaps that was it, she thought guiltily, Scabbers had somehow known she was an Animagus, and a cat at that, and was frightened- Maybe this had nothing to do with Crookshanks all along, and only her, but she hadn't even known-

Hagrid suddenly leapt to his feet. "They're comin'." His face was slowly going pale as he stared blankly out his window to the castle steps. Heading down these steps were Professor Dumbledore, Fudge, the executioner Macnair, and another old wizard she did not know, presumably from the Committee. Harry, Hermione, and Ron all tried to remain in Hagrid's hut, but he forced the four of them out the back door, tossing the Invisibility Cloak over their heads.

"Please, let's hurry," whispered Hermione. "I can't stand it, I can't bear it..."

They headed up the lawn towards the castle. The sun had almost set and the cloudy sky was tinged lavender, aquamarine, dark orange.

Ron stopped, forcing the rest of them to all pause with him, under the cover of the Cloak. He was trying to force Scabbers back into his pocket. The rat was acting rabid, trying to bite Ron's hand. "Scabbers, it's me, you idiot, it's Ron," he hissed desperately.

Bellacine heard a door open behind them and deep voices.

"Oh, Ron, please let's move, they're going to do it!" Hermione breathed.

"Get over it," she snapped, "be grateful you can't see anything, Hermione...it's only a noise, just a noise-"

"Okay," Ron interrupted. "We're moving. Scabbers, stay _put-_" Ron paused again. "I can't hold him- Scabbers, shut up, everyone'll hear us-"

The rat's squeals were noisy and high-pitched, but not quite raucous enough to cover the sounds drifting up from Hagrid's garden: a mix of indistinct male voices, a sudden pause; warningless, a swish and the thud of an axe finding its target and deciding to spend a bit of time there.

* * *

They stood there, blank with shock, for a few moments, until Scabbers, still scrabbling frantically, bit Ron. He yelped in pain and attempted again to shove the rat into his pocket.

"Ron, be quiet!" came an urgent whisper from Hermione. "Fudge'll be out here in a minute-"

"He won't- stay- put—What's the _matter_ with him?"

She saw Harry flinch and look off to the left; there, his yellow eyes gleaming lantern-like, was Crookshanks. Bellacine assumed the cat was following Scabbers's scent or squeaks; she wasn't sure if cats could see through Invisibility Cloaks, as she had never tried it herself.

"Crookshanks!" moaned Hermione. "No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!"

"Scabbers- NO!"

Scabbers gave one last desperate, violent spasm and jerked free of Ron's fingers, fell, and dashed away. Crookshanks immediately leapt after the rat and Ron quickly ducked out from beneath the cloak and followed the two animals. Harry, Hermione, and Bellacine stared at each other, frozen, then Bellacine shrugged and dashed off after Ron.

They could hear but not see Ron thundering after Crookshanks, shouting at the cat. "Get away from him- get away- Scabbers, come here!" Then they heard a loud thud and another, more triumphant shout. "Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat!"

_I find that insulting…_

Bellacine almost tripped over Ron's foot and caught herself just in time. "_Lumos_," she whispered. There, lying on the ground before her was the redhead, holding both hands tightly over a wriggling lump in his shirt pocket.

"Ron- come on- back under the cloak-" panted Hermione, directly behind her. She turned and saw Harry too. "Dumbledore- the Minister- they'll be coming back out in a minute-"

And then over Harry's shoulder Bellacine saw an indistinct, large shape running towards them. It bounded into the circle of light cast by her wand, and she saw it to be a large, pale-eyed black dog, like the Grim Trelawney had been prophesizing about, although she had tuned out the fraudulent predictions after the first round.

The dog leapt directly for Harry, who fell down, but it had overshot and so rolled over his shoulders.

Dazedly, Harry wobbled to his feet as the dog whipped about and lunged for Ron, who had also struggled to his feet. It seized his outstretched arm in its shaggy jaws and began to drag him away as Hermione let out a shriek of pain, Bellacine heard a _whop_, and saw Harry fall, then there was a swooshing noise and something hit her very hard across the face. She fumbled, dropping her wand, and collapsed to her knees, blood dripping from one temple.

Harry whispered "_Lumos!_" and a new circle of light illuminated a knobbly tree trunk and wildly flailing branches: they had chased Scabbers all the way to the Whomping Willow. In the shadow of the branches was the great black dog, dragging Ron through a gap between the roots. He was fighting back, but the dog was no match for him; he hooked one leg around a protruding root in an effort to stay in place.

A horrible crack shot out and Ron vanished, broken leg dragging behind him- _there had been broken legs before_….

Bellacine screamed "ILYA!" and did the only sensible thing: she turned into the black cat, not caring who saw her do so, and dived into the Whomping Willow after the dog and Ilya- no, _he was Ron_-

She looked around. The dog had disappeared through a gap in the roots, she was now beyond that gap; it appeared to be an unlit tunnel. The walls were of loose dirt and several projecting rocks. If she had been in human form she would have needed to bend almost double so as not to scrape the ceiling; as a cat, she had no difficulty.

Hearing footsteps, she glanced behind her and saw another cat: Crookshanks, padding up the tunnel behind her. His yellow eyes caught hers and he hissed. Knowing Harry and Hermione must be following close behind this cat, Bellacine shifted back as Harry turned a bend.

"Where did you go?" said Hermione.

"Just into this…," Bellacine said, "this tunnel…."

They inspected the dirt walls around them; though Bellacine could no longer see through the darkness, Harry had his wand lit- enough to light their way. She let her own wand remain in her pocket, where she had placed it-

No, she hadn't. She'd dropped it outside the Whomping Willow.

_So do I go back for my wand or do I stick with Harry and Hermione? Do I go outside and get it so I can fight, or do I stay so I'm with them in case anything happens? _There was also the simple question, a strange question of bravado; _do I stay so I don't miss anything?_

She stayed. It was dark outside, or near to it; no one would notice a thin stick of wood beside a tree most people avoided.

The three of them were now running through the tunnel (running bent almost double was harder than it looked), then the ground began to rise, slope upwards. There was a dim glow ahead of them…Crookshanks trotted up into the light, and they followed.

They entered into a large, dusty room with wallpaper peeling from the walls. Stains covered the floor and dusty, broken furniture lined the walls. The windows were boarded over; in most, the glass had been shattered in the pane.

Hermione looked around, wide-eyed, then whispered, "Harry…I think we're in the Shrieking Shack."

"Come again?" said Bellacine, who was not too far up on her Hogwarts paraphernalia.

"The Shrieking Shack!" said Hermione. "We _thought _this tunnel led into Hogsmeade on the map….Come on, Bella, Shrieking Shack? Most haunted building in Britain?"

"Ah, right," she said sheepishly, but at the same moment, Harry looked about at the smashed-up furniture.

"Ghosts didn't do that," he said slowly.

"No. They didn't," she countered with more cheer than she felt. "But we're here to get Ron, and that's what we're going to do, ghosts, ghosty-things, and whatever else is in here noninclusive."

Just then there was a long, low creak; they froze until the eerie noise ceased. Bellacine stepped past the other two, recklessly, shrugged, and started down the hallway and upstairs. She could hear their timid footsteps behind her, faintly creaking on mostly dusty stairs that had a wide, shiny swath down the center of them. Fortunately, it was only wiped clean of dust- not the viscous, dark red stain of blood.

She paused on the dark landing to wait for her friends; they simultaneously whispered "_Nox_" and the circles of wandlight were extinguished. Creeping forwards to the only door that was open, Bellacine gestured to Harry to pause. Noiselessly she slunk to the door and leaned lightly against it. There was the sound of movement, of a low moan, and Crookshanks's purring.

Bellacine stepped aside and nodded to Harry. He exchanged a last thin smile with her and with Hermione before kicking open the door.

Ron leaned on the floor against a magnificent four-poster bed, clutching his broken leg. Crookshanks lay curled on the bed above him, mewling loudly.

"Ron- are you okay?"

"Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog," moaned Ron, clenching his jaw tight. "Harry, it's a trap-"

"What-"

"Ron-"

"He's the dog…he's an Animagus…."

Ron was staring over their shoulders with an expression of absolute terror superimposed above the pain on his face. Harry whirled around, as did she. A man who had been crouching behind the half-open door straightened and shut the door with a snap.

A mass of filthy, tangled black hair hung to his elbows; shadowed eyes shone out of sockets that fit better in a graveyard. He grinned, madly- his chthonic appearance lending him an even more terrifying aura. She knew his face at once, though somehow the _Daily Prophet_ could never quite capture the horror of seeing him: It was Sirius Black.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he croaked, pointing at them a wand that she recognized as Ron's.

Bellacine, feeling strangely detached from the scene, watched as Harry's and Hermione's wands shot out of their hands; she was suddenly glad her own was elsewhere- she'd been Disarmed before and it was one of the worst feelings in the world, to have no wand, no power, but still have to fight.

Her uncle took a step closer and fixed his eyes on Harry. "I knew you'd come," he said hoarsely. She doubted he had even used his voice in a good many months. "Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I'm grateful…it will make everything much easier…."

_How insane are you?_ said a faint, almost pitying voice inside her head. _How much have you seen? How much have you known? How many people have you killed?_

And then Harry took a determined step forwards; she caught the murderous look on his face and could almost understand how he felt at the moment- how simple, how easy it would be to kill- how wonderful-

"No, Harry!" gasped Hermione and their hands held him back. Ron, too, was standing, holding Harry back; she tried to force him to sit down and hold Harry back herself, but he shrugged her off.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" bellowed Ron, his face slowly turning a pale, sickly green.

Something- she was not quite sure what emotion- flickered like a dying ember in Black's eyes. "Lie down," he ordered, his voice less harsh. "You will damage that leg even more."

"Did you hear me? You'll have to kill all four of us-"

"There'll only be one murder here tonight," the murderer replied, his grin spreading and growing infinitesimally more insane.

"Over my dead body," interjected Bellacine, "and I mean that literally. Count the wands you hold- three. Where's mine?" It was a risky bluff, but it just- might- work-

"Only one murder," repeated Black.

"What's that?" spat Harry. He tried to wrench himself free of their grasp. Their hands tightened accordingly in response. "Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew…what's the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?"

The standard response to a question like Harry's own about the Muggles at Durmstrang would have been, "And Muggles matter since when?"

"Harry, shut up!" snarled Bellacine. "You're going to get yourself-"

"HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" Harry roared, and broke free of their grip, lunging at Black. He seemed to have a few crazy moments too, because suddenly he was swinging wildly at Black, hitting as hard as he could, knocking him back into the wall-

Hermione screamed and Ron shouted in pain as one of them stumbled over his leg; he heaved himself onto the bed. A multicolored jet of sparks shot from the three wands in Black's hand; his other hand reached out and wrapped around Harry's throat-

"No," he hissed, "I've waited too long-"

Bellacine heard Harry's choked gasp, then, of nowhere, a foot swung past her and kicked Black, who staggered and let go of Harry. She joined the fray and leapt at Black's wand hand; the three wands fell to the floor with a noisy clatter. Harry rolled towards his, then let out an angry yelp as Crookshanks sunk his claws into his arm.

"Get out of the way!" he shouted at the two girls.

Hermione quickly scrambled to pick them up, and retreated to the four-poster bed, her lip bleeding. Bellacine also fell back, trying to appear ready to fight again.

Black lay sprawled at the bottom of the wall. For half a second he appeared dead, then his thin chest began to rapidly rise and fall. Harry held his wand straight at Black's heart.

"Going to kill me, Harry?"

"You killed my parents," he retorted, shaking.

And suddenly something in the deep recesses of her mind awoke; returned.

"I don't deny it," her uncle said, very quietly, "but if you knew the whole story."

"_I still find it hard to believe…."_

"The whole story?" Harry spat in reply. "You sold them to Voldemort. That's all I need to know."

"_Believe what?"_

"You've got to listen to me," said Black, more than a quarter note of urgency in his weak voice now. "You'll regret it if you don't….You don't understand…."

"_You know, about him. It never seemed likely that he had been serving the Dark Lord all along…I just never expected it of him..."_

"I understand a lot better than you think," said Harry; Bellacine heard the quiver in his voice grow shakier. "You never heard her, did you? My mum…trying to stop Voldemort killing me…and you did that…you did it…."

Before anything else could happen, Crookshanks bounded down from the four-poster bed, across the floor, and settled himself on Black's chest, directly above his heart.

"Get off," Black muttered. "Go on, get."

"_But my dear, they've got the wrong man….Simon Peter denied Christ, and Peter…Peter…"_

"_He was the one?"_

Bellacine snapped back to attention, trying to soak in what was before her as well as what had lain dormant in her mind, so many years, to process this strange new revelation that she hardly understood. Then the dam burst, she was hit with a lightening bolt of sudden power- standing- she looked into his eyes, she saw the truth, shining close to the surface- how simple, yet how very impossible- and she still knew not who was culpable, but only that Sirius Black was innocent, and now going to die for nothing, and that was not permissible-

She took one small step for a human, one giant leap for humankind, and stepped forward in front of her uncle, facing down Harry.

He was _so _going to kill her for this.

"What are you _doing_, Bella?" She heard a flavor of the same hatred- so shocking in his voice- as when he spoke to Sirius Black.

Bellacine gestured behind her, wishing the _Avada Kedavra _would be quick- she knew it would, it always was, but how slowly could it travel when it was traveling to meet her- "That's Tom Robinson. I'm defending him."

"Whoever you are," croaked Black, "please just move, get out of the way—"

And then they could hear footsteps echoing downstairs, sudden silence- Hermione screamed, "WE'RE UP HERE- SIRIUS BLACK- _QUICK_!" Harry's grasp tightened on his wand, almost convulsively, and she prayed- _make it quick, please, make it quick-_

Lupin burst into the room, his own wand at the ready, and another, hers, in his other hand. He took a slow, hurried look around the room- Ron, lying on the bed, clutching his injured leg- Hermione, cowering beside the door- Harry, holding a wand on Bellacine and on Sirius Black-

"_Expelliarmus_!" shouted Lupin.

Harry's wand flew from his hand; from the corner of her eye, she saw the two wands Hermione clutched leap from her grasp as well. Lupin caught the three wands deftly, and then he tossed her own wand across the gap to her.

_What_ the-

"Where is he, Sirius?" Lupin spoke in a very tense voice; she had no clue what the werewolf was talking about.

For a few seconds Black remained perfectly still. Then he raised a shrunken hand and pointed it directly at the four-poster bed- at Ron. Ron shrugged, mystified, when Harry turned and caught his gaze.

"But then…," muttered Lupin, intently staring at Black, "why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless-?" _Why hasn't who shown what before when? What? _thought Bellacine. "-unless he was the one…unless you switched…without telling me…?"

Very slowly, Black nodded.

"Professor," Harry interjected loudly, "what's going on?"

"I think we've been wrong all along," breathed Bellacine as Harry's voice died in his throat. "I think we've got the wrong-"

Her voice died too, as Lupin walked past her to Black, seized his hand, pulled him to his feet, allowing Crookshanks to fall to the floor, and embraced Black like a brother.

He had a brother.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Hermione screamed. She had raised herself off the floor and was pointing wild-eyed at Lupin, who had released Black. "You- _you_-"

"Hermione!"

"-you and him!"

"Hermione, calm down!"

"I didn't tell anyone!" Hermione shrieked. "I've been covering up for you!"

"Whose side are you on anyway? Both of you!" shouted Bellacine. "You- so it wasn't you, I don't know what the real version of things is, but you're not the traitor, okay—And you! You! _You've _wanted Harry dead all along, not him! I should have told as soon as I knew-"

"Hermione! Bellacine, listen to me, please!" Lupin shouted. "I can explain if you will just listen to me!"

"I trusted you!" Harry roared at Lupin. Under cover of the great deal of shouting that was taking place, she relieved her wand of its vacation inside her pocket and trained it straight on Lupin. "And all this time you've been his friend!"

"You're wrong," said Lupin. "I haven't been Sirius's friend, but I am now- let me explain-"

"NO!" screamed Hermione. "Harry, don't trust him, he's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too-"

"WEREWOLF!" screamed Bellacine. "HALF-BREED!"

A ringing silence, all eyes on her.

"What?" she snapped defensively. "It's true, ask him- if you trust him, I certainly don't-"

Everyone's gaze switched to Lupin, who looked pale, though he spoke quite calmly. "Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione. Only one out of three, I'm afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don't want Harry dead…although you, Bellacine, are right- if I say this, will you _trust _me enough to believe it is true…?" An odd shiver passed over his face. "But I won't deny that I am a werewolf."

Ron tried to struggle up, but fell back with another gasp of pain. Lupin moved forward, looking concerned- Ron gasped, "Get away from me, werewolf!"

Bellacine moved protectively in front of Ron. "One more step, half-breed…," she warned.

Lupin stopped dead with an obvious concerted effort; he turned first to Hermione and then to herself. "How long have you known?"

"Ages," they both said.

"Since the first Quidditch game," Bellacine said. "It just…added up…then." She remembered how Ilya's leg had too broken—Merlin, she was _afraid-_

"Since I did Professor Snape's essay," Hermione whispered.

"He'll be delighted. He assigned that essay hoping somebody would realize what my symptoms meant….Did you check the lunar chart and realize that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realize that the boggart turned into the full moon when it saw me?"

"Both," she whispered.

Lupin forced a stiff laugh. "You're the cleverest witch of your age I've ever met, Hermione- and you, Bellacine-"

"I'm not," said Bellacine. "Too much has happened because I was dammed _stupid_. I could have told the whole school what you are- it could have been so easy, one whispered word and by dinner you'd be leaving…."

"But they already know," he said. "At least, the staff do."

"Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf?" gasped Ron. "Is he mad?"

"Yes, of course," quipped Bellacine.

"AND HE WAS WRONG!" Harry yelled suddenly. "YOU'VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME!" Black abruptly crossed the room and sank down onto the bed, his face buried in thin, shaking hands. Ron edged away.

"I have _not_ been helping Sirius. If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. Look-" He took out Harry's, Hermione's, and Ron's wands and instantaneously she knew what he was about to do, whatever he had said-

"_Cru-_" Bellacine started to shout, but Hermione lunged at her wand hand and knocked it aside.

"No," she panted. "Give him a chance. _Give him a chance._"

Lupin tossed the wands that were not his back to their respective owners. _You'll regret this_ thought Bellacine, but she returned her own wand to her pocket, slowly.

"There," said Lupin, sticking his own wand into his belt. "You're armed, we're not. Now will you listen?"

"If you haven't been helping him," said Harry with a furious gesture towards her uncle and no regard for the implied idea of shutting up for a bit, "how did you know he was here?"

"The map. The Marauder's Map. I was in my office, examining it-"

"You can work it?" she voiced suspiciously.

"Of course I know how to work it. I helped write it. I'm Moony- that was my friends' nickname for me at school.

"The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you four might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn't I?

"You might have been wearing you father's old cloak, Harry-"

"How d'you know about the Cloak?"

"The number of times I saw James disappear under it….The point is, even if you're wearing an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the Marauder's Map. I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid's hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid and set off back towards the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else-"

"What?" exclaimed Ron. "No, we weren't!"

"I couldn't believe my eyes," he continued, now pacing the dusty floor and paying no attention to Ron's interruption. "I thought the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?"

"No one was with us!" Harry repeated.

"And then I saw another dot, moving fast towards you, labeled _Sirius Black_….I saw him collide with you, I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow-"

"One of us!" Ron corrected.

"No, Ron," said Lupin. "Two of you. Do you think I could have a look at that rat?"

"What? What's Scabbers got to do with it?"

"Everything," said Lupin. "Can I see him, please?"

Ron hesitated, then put a shaky hand inside his pocket and extracted the rat he had been trying to contain all evening. Scabbers emerged, backpedaling furiously in midair; Crookshanks hissed at the sight of the pet.

Lupin stepped closer to Ron, gazing intently at Scabbers.

"What?" he repeated. "What's my rat got to do with anything?"

"That's not a rat," croaked Sirius Black- suddenly Bellacine remembered that he was an Animagus, just as she was- and if one could be, then surely- but surely not-

"What d'you mean- of course he's a rat-"

_Or was he?_

"No, he's not," whispered Lupin. "He's a wizard."

"An Animagus- no," said Bellacine, because of course this was fully and completely impossible, "he couldn't be—"

"He is," said Black with an air of dark finality. "An Animagus, by the name of Peter Pettigrew."


	12. Chapter12Of Mice, Men, and Lupin Talking

**A/N: Yes, it's extremely short; yes, it's mostly Lupin talking...and talking...and talking...but the fact remains that it is up. And that I have discovered the benefits of a wonderful room in the local library with several computer, where I am now sitting...and I should have the next chapter up by Tuesday, if I am really lucky...which I may be, although this will siphon away all the luck I need for the finals-which-I-am-not-studying-for because I have better ways to waste my time!**

**For all the (not-so-very) massive scores who have reviewed wondering something along the lines of when Sirius will figure out who Bellacine is, etc., etc., not so very long to wait...It's coming...just not today.**

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There was stillness, absolute stillness. After a few seconds, Bellacine could finally give voice to her thoughts: "You're mental. Totally, completely mental. In fact, you're mental enough that it all makes perfect sense."

"But Peter Pettigrew's dead," said Harry. "He killed him twelve years ago!" He pointed at Sirius Black, whose expression jerked furiously.

"I meant to," he hissed, his yellow teeth bard, "but little Peter got the better of me…not this time, though!" He lunged at Ron; fell on his broken leg, fingers scrabbling desperately for Scabbers.

"Sirius, NO!" shouted Lupin, pulling Black away from the bed. "WAIT! You can't just do it like that- they need to understand- we've got to explain-"

Black attempted to shake him off. "We can explain afterwards!"

"They've- got- a- right- to- know- everything!" shouted Lupin, dragging Black away from the bed. "Ron's kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don't understand!" He waved a hand at Bellacine. "Her! D'you know what she's put up with all year because of you? And Harry- you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!"

He finally stopped struggling. "All right then. Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for."

"You're nutters, both of you," muttered Ron, trying to heave himself off the bed. He looked to Harry for support. "I've had enough of this. I'm off."

Lupin raised his wand again, and Bellacine's hand started to slip for hers. Instead he pointed at Scabbers. "You're going to hear me out, Ron. Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen."

"HE'S NOT PETER, HE'S SCABBERS!" shouted Ron, trying again to force Scabbers into his pocket. He swayed, overbalanced; Harry firmly pushed him back down to the bed.

"There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die," said Harry. "A whole street full of them…."

"They didn't see what they thought they saw!"

Lupin nodded thoughtfully. "Everyone thought Sirius killed Peter. I believed it myself- until I saw the map tonight. Because the Marauder's Map never lies…Peter's alive, Ron. You're holding him."

"If he is an Animagus," began Bellacine, "then-"

"But he can't be," Hermione interrupted. "We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall at the beginning of the year- remember? I looked up the list- the Ministry keeps tabs on everyone who can do that, so they don't abuse it- and I looked up Professor McGonagall, she was on the register, but Pettigrew wasn't- there have only been seven Animagi this century-"

Harry exchanged a slightly guilty look with Bellacine as Lupin started to laugh.

"Right again, Hermione! But the Ministry never knew there used to be three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts."

"If you're going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus," Black snarled as he watched the rat. "I've waited twelve years; I'm not going to wait much longer."

Lupin began to speak, but broke off at the sound of a loud creak on the landing outside. The bedroom door swung open of its own accord. All six stared at it.

"This place is haunted!" said Ron.

"It's not," Lupin replied briskly. "The Shrieking Shack was never haunted…the screams the villagers heard were made by me.

"None of this would have happened if I hadn't been bitten...," continued Lupin, pushing greying hair out of his eyes, "and if I hadn't been so foolhardy. I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days-"

"You had to walk twenty miles, uphill both ways, in the freezing rain, jsut to get to school," Bellacine interrupted sarcastically. "And then you had to-"

Lupin frowned at her. "In those days, _there was no cure_. The potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe-"

She laughed bitterly. "Safe, Lupin? A safe werewolf? Let me tell you something, Professor, there is no such thing as a safe werewolf. If there was we would not be having this discussion right now, so shut up and stop pretending."

"Bella," Hermione said, not angrily, but certainly impatient, "_you _be quiet. Let the rest of us hear him out in peace, at least. Be quiet for however long this takes and then you can say whatever you please."

"Thank you, Hermione," said Lupin. "As long as I take it in the week proceeding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform...I am able to curl up in my office, a harmless - yes, Bellacine, harmless- wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again.

"Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren't likely to want their children exposed to me. But then Dumbledore became headmaster, and he was sympathetic," Lupin said, pacing the dusty floor.

_Sympathetic? SYMPATHETIC? What kind of school is this, what kind of world is this- I knew Dumbledore was a little odd, but this- He's asking for people to get killed- And now he's trying to get them to believe this idiocy when he's standing in the very room he must have tranformed in-"_

"But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, three great firneds. Sirius Black...Peter Pettigrew...and, of course, your father, Harry- James Potter.

"Now, my three friends could hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all sorts of stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see her...I was terrified they would desert me the moment they found out what I was. But of course, they, like you girls, worked out the truth...

"And they didn't desert me at all. Instead, they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi."

As Harry asked, "My dad too?" with an incredulous tone and an incredulous expression on his face, Bellacine smirked...Watch Hermione try to tell her off now, once she had time to tell her about the Animagus thing...she couldn't do anything about it now, could she...?

"Yes indeed," said Lupin. "It took them the best part of three years to figure out how to do it. Your father and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the Animagus transformations can go horribly wrong- one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it. Peter needed all the help he could get from James and Sirius. Finally, in our fifth year, thay all managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will."

"But how did that help you?" Hermione inquired, her face puzzled.

"Werewolf's only a danger to humans when they're human. When you're an Animagus and you're an animal at the time it can't hurt you- rather, it can't bite you and make you a werewolf," said Bellacine. "I ought to know, it saved my life."

"It did _what_?" Hermione squawked.

"A werewolf is only a danger to humans," Lupin continued stolidly. "They sneaked out of the csatle every month under James's Invisibility Cloak. They transformed...Peter, as the smallest, could slip beneath the Willow's attacking branches and touch the knot that freezes it. They would slip down the tunnel and join me. Under their influenece I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so while I was with them."

"Hurry up, Remus," snarled Black; he still kept a close, hungry watch on Scabbers from where he sat, a terrible fury on his face.

"I'm getting there, Sirius, I'm getting there...well, highly exciting possibilities were open to us now that we could all transform. Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check. I doubt whether any Hogwarts student ever found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did...And that's how we came to write the Marauder's Map and sign it with our nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs."

"What sort of animal-?"

"That was still really dangerous!" interjected Hermione. "Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you'd given the other the slip, and bitten somebody?"

"A thought that still haunts me," he said, his words weighing heavy upon the air. "And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless- carried away with our own cleverness."

She herself was horrified- near misses? How near? Did they have any idea what they were doing, the fools, or did they seriously not realise the risks they were mindlessly taking-?

"I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore's trust, of course...he had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the rules he had set down for my own and others' safety. He never knew I had led three fellow students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next month's adventure. And I haven't changed...

"All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn't do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I'd betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I'd let others along with me...and Dumbledore's trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using Dark Arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an ANimagus had nothing to do with it...so, in a way, Snape was right about me all along."

"Snape?" spat Black, his voice slightly croaky again. For the first time he looked away from Scabbers and up to Lupin. "What's Snape got to do with it?"

"He's here, Sirius. He's teaching as well." Lupin looked up at Harry, Ron, and Hermione- clearly avoiding Bellacine. "Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He had his reasons...you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me-"

Blac made a derisive noise that was on the cusp of a snort. "It served him right. Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to...hoping he could get us expelled..."

He had a very classic Black sort of sneer on his face. She knew she must, too...how could she not, with Lupin there and the others listening to him like he was a teacher, and always right, and so on and so forth...

"Severus was very interested in where I went each month," the werewolf went on. "We were in the same year, you know, and we- er- didn't like each other very much. Jealous, I think he was, of James's talent on the Quidditch field...anyway, Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me to the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be amusing to tell Snape all he ahd to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he'd be able to get in after me. Well, of course Snape tried it- if he'd got as far as this house, he'd have met a full-fledged werewolf- but your father, who'd heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life...Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was..."

"So that's why Snape doesn't like you," Harry said slowly. _No really... _"Because he thought you were in on the joke?"

"That's right," said Snape, and he pulled the Invisibility Cloak off his head, and Black leapt to his feet, and Hermione screamed, and she supressed a shout- because maybe this would be a good thing, maybe it'd get Lupin out of this, and she could talk to Sirius-

Sirius, Bellacine realised, would not have the slightest idea who she was. He hadn't acknowledged her any different than he had anyone else. Well, that was encouraging. She'd taken precisely how much shit from the rest of the school for a man who didn't even know she existed?


	13. Chapter 13 Rat Riddles

**A/N: A little note: Yes, I know in the last chapter I mostly referred to Sirius as 'Black' which is strange considering he's her uncle. But what else is there to call him? Sirius is too...nice...and there really isn't much else, is there? ****Right, about Lupin...I might as well say it now, if you like Lupin quite a bit, I'm sorry...now be grateful Bella doesn't really exist.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviews, especially those people last time who hadn't reviewed before and to Moromu and Ramzes who review with frightening regularity.**

**See? I said I'd have it up by next Tuesday and...voila! I won't be home for much of June, so updates are probably going to regress to the old once-every-few-weeks state, which I hated as much as you. Two more chapters, though...I'm tempted to make everyone wait a year or two for my version of Goblet of Fire like you would in the real world. But I won't.**

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"I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow," said Snape coolly, dropping Harry's Cloak on the floor, while keeping his wand trained on Lupin. "Very useful, Potter, I thank you...

"You're wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?" His eyes glittered triumphantly. "I've just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did...lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain ma. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running down this passageway and out of sight."

"Severus-" Lupin began.

"I've told the headmaster time and time again that you're helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout."

"Severus, you're making a mistake," he said urgently. "You haven't heard everything- I can explain- Sirius is not here to kill Harry-"

"Two more for Azkaban tonight," Snape hissed, his black eyes practically glowing with excitement. "I shall be quite interested to see how Dumbledore takes this...He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin...a _tame _werewolf-"

"You fool," Lupin said quietly; somehow the feeling in the bedroom was one of preparing for a fight, "is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?"

Snape jabbed his wand through the air once, and with a _bang!_ thin, snaky cords spurted forth and entwined themselves around Lupin's ankles, wrists, and his mouth; he swayed once, overbalanced, and fell to the floor. Black started towards the Potions teacher with an incoherent roar of rage.

Snape pointed his wand at the spot directly between her uncle's eyess. "Give me a reason," he breathed. "Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."

Bellacine's heart was beating fast and furious- what on earth was she supposed to do? She was, in a way, grateful for Snape's sudden appearance- they both, seemingly, had the same opinion of Lupin and she was glad he'd gotten him out of the way- But innocent or not, no one was going to hold a wand on her uncle, her family like that-

She whipped out her wand and shouted "_Stupefy!_" at Snape- He shouted "_Protego!_" and the red spell refracted off a sudden invisible wall, fragmenting into pieces before illuminating the dark room with a final scarlet flash.

"_Sect-_"

"DON'T USE THAT AGAINST ME, MISS BLACK!" Snape roared, and blocked her mid-spell.

"Then shut up and hear what he's got to say!" she shouted, gestured at Black. "Would it really hurt so much?"

"SHUT UP, BLACK!" he bellowed. "SHUT UP, YOU STUPID GIRL, AND DON'T TALK ABOUT THINGS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

"I WILL NOT SHUT UP!" Bellacine screamed back. "I don't care if you're a teacher! So what? You're one of the dammned stupidest teachers I've ever met, here or anywhere- my god, just listen, will you!"

"Miss Black," hissed Snape silkily, "you are completely out of bounds. You are in the company of a werewolf and a known murderer, you are trying to defend this murderer, you are off school grounds without permission, you are_ attacking a teacher_- did Durmstrang teach you nothing? _Shut up!_"

Slowly, she shrugged, knowing this battle was lost. She lowered her wand.

Snape turned from her; clearly he had far more important concerns. "Vengeance is very sweet," he breathed, staring at Black, looking altogether more deranged in this strange calm than he had shouting. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you..."

"The joke's on you again, Severus," snarled Black. "As long as the boy brings his rat up to the castle, I'll come quietly."

"Up to the castle? I don't think we need to go that far," Snape whispered. "All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black...pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay..."

Bellacine shouted the first spell that came to mind at him- "_Expelliarmus!_" But hers was not the only voice shouting- Hermione and Ron and Harry had all raised their wands, and yelled the same spell with her. Snape was lifted bodily by the triple spell, slammed against a wall, and slid to the floor, unconcious. A trickle of blood dripped down his temple. His wand soared through the air, landing on the four-poster bed next to Ron, and Crookshanks.

"You shouldn't have done that," said Black, looking slowly to each one of them. "You should have left him to me..."

"I had to do it," Bellacine said shortly.

They stared at each other momentarily, until the muffled noise of Lupin straining against his bonds reached Black. He quickly went to him, and untied his bonds. 'Leave him,' she had almost said, but Lupin stood as she opened her mouth.

"Thank you, Harry," said Lupin.

"I'm still not saying I believe you," Harry replied. "And that wasn't really me- thank Bella."

Lupin nodded a miniscule nod in her direction, which she ignored. "If you don't believe us still, then it's time we offered you some proof," he said to Harry. "You, boy- give me Peter. Now, please."

"Come off it," Ron sighed weakly, slutching Scabbers tightly. "Are you saying he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on _Scabbers_? I mean...Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat- there are millions of rats- how's he supposed to know which one he's after if he's been locked up in Azkaban?"

Black slowly extended a bent hand inside his robes and withdrew a crumpled bit of a newspaper. He carefully smoothed it out and held it up for all to see. On the front page, the only page remaining of an old _Daily Prophet_, was a photograph of a large family- the Weasley family, because Ron, the twins, and Percy were all there. Sitting on Ron's shoulder was the rat.

"How did you get this?" asked Lupin.

"Fudge," Black said. "When he came to inspect Azkaban last fall, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter, on the front page...on this boy's shoulder...I knew him at once...how many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts...to where Harry was..."

"What-?" began Bellacine, and then she saw, and she stopped, shocked. For several long, silently tense seconds she stared at the newspaper- at the rat- at his right leg- which was missing a paw- "His finger- Peter's finger- only thing left- after- How? No- no, never mind, it's impossible- he couldn't have- _he did_," she breathed. "_He cut it off himself_."

Black nodded silently.

"Just before he transformed. When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself- and sped down the sewer with the other rats..."

_Of course, _she thought. _Of course...And - Crookshanks- _"Crookshanks knew- well, what did he know?" she asked, nodding at the ginger cat sprawled beside Ron.

"He's been helping me ever since I could explain to him everything- he recognised immediately I was no dog, and Peter no rat. He tried to bring Peter to me, but he couldn't...and so he stole the passwords into Gryffindor Tower for me...As I understand, he took them from a boy's bedside table. But Peter must have gotten wind of what was going on and ran for it...This cat- Crookshanks?- told me Peter had left blood on the sheets...I supposed he bit himself...Well, faking his own death had worked once..." Black's croaky voice trailed off into shadow.

Curiously...it made even more sense than the simple insanity of stepping between Harry, her friend, and Sirius Black, her family had, at the time...

"And now you've come to finish him off!" shouted HArry.

"Yes I have," he snarled.

"Then we should've let Snape take you!"

"Harry, don't you see?" Lupin said hurriedly. "All this time we've thought Sirius betrayed your parents, and Peter tracked him down- but it was the other way around, don't you see? _Peter _betrayed your mother and father- Sirius tracked _Peter _down-"

"THAT'S NOT TRUE! HE WAS THEIR SECRET-KEEPER!" Harry yelled. "HE SAID SO BEFORE YOU TRUNED UP! HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!" He was pointing at Sirius Black.

"Not quite he didn't," she muttered.

"Harry...I as good as killed them," croaked Black. "I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me...I'm to blame, I know it...The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I was scared." His voice speeded up, faster, faster, like a tape on rewind, as if he went fast enough he could catch Peter before anything happened- "I set out for you parents' home straightaway. And when I saw their house, destroyed...and their bodies...I realised what Peter must've done...what I'd done..." His voice shattered. He turned away.

"Enough," Lupin commanded tensely, a steel girder running through his hoarse voice. "There's one certain way to prove waht happened. Ron, _give me that rat_."

"What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?"

"Force him to show himself. If he really is a rat, it won't hurt him."

After a small hesitation, Ron, at long last, held out Scabbers: Lupin took him, and the moment the rat was in the werewolf's grasp, it began squeaking ceaselessly.

"Ready, Sirius?" he asked.

Black was already clutching Snape's wand in his clawlike grasp, and his eyes semmed to be burning up in his pale face. "Together?"

"I think so," said Lupin grimly. Extending the rat in one hand, he aimed his wand with the other. "On the count of three. One- two- THREE!"

A flash of bluish-white light- Scabbers flew from Lupin's hand and froze, midair, for a second, like the world was running itself on freeze-frame- Ron shouted out- Scabbers landed on the floor with another flash, and then-

A head sprouted upwards and limbs out from the small, madly twisting body of the rat- it was like Daphne, turning into a laurel as Apollo chased her- A man stood where the rat had fallen. He was very short, hardly taller than herself; his hair was thin and colourless, or the colour of moldy hay, and his small, beadily ratlike eyes hollow. He glanced shiftily towards the door and the boarded- up window.

"Well, hello, Peter," said Lupin pleasantly. "Long time no see."

"S-Sirius...R-Remus..." His voice was squeaky, ratlike. His whole _appearance _and the shifty way he glanced sidelong at the door was ratlike. "My friends...my old friends..."

Black began to raise Snape's wand, but Lupin quelled him with a look; Pettigrew again glanced towards the door. It was starting to become tiresome. Lupin turned to him, speaking very casually. "We've been having a little caht, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squaeking around down there on the bed-"

"Remus," Pettigrew gasped, sweat breaking out along the edges of his pasty face and his receeding hairline. "You don't believe him, do you...? He tried to kill me, Remus..."

"So we've heard. I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, so if you'd be so kind-"

"He's come to try and kill me again!" squealed the man desperately, using his middle finger to point at Sirius- in any other context it could have been mistaken for an obscene gesture, but this man's index finger was missing, seemingly sliced off at the bse. "He killed Lily and James and now he's come to kill me too...You've got to help me, Remus...All this time, I knew it! I knew he'd come after me, I knew he'd be back for me! I've been waiting for this for twelve years!" he gsaped.

"You knew he would break out of Azkaban, something no one else had ever done before? You knew that? Really, Mr. Pettigrew...I wasn't aware rats were that intelligent...," Bellacine said mockingly.

"He's got dark powers the rest of us could only dream of!" shrilled Pettigrew, vaguely (and most definitely, unfortunately) reminiscent of a high woodwind. "How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!"

Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that echoed off the inside of her skull...Merlin, Nimue, and Morgan, this man was insane...he even had the laugh down..."Voldemort, teach me tricks?"

Pettigrew recoiled.

"What, scared to hear your old master's name? I don't blame you, Peter. His lot aren't very happy with you, are they? Don't protest, you know just how true it is- you haven't been hiding from _me_ for twelve years, you've been hiding from Voldemort's old supporters...I heard things in Azkaban, Peter...They all think you're dead, or you'd have to answer to them...I've heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters' on your information...and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort's supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There's still some out there, biding their time, pretending they've seen the error of their ways...If they ever got wind that you were still alive-"

"Don't know...," panted Pettigrew, "what you're talking about..." He wiped his damp face on his dirty sleeve. "You don't believe this- this madness, Remus?"

"I must admit I have some difficulty understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat," Lupin replied coldly.

"Innocent, but scared!" yelped the man. "If Voldemort's supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban- the spy, Sirius Black!"

Black growled something incomprehensible but no doubt threatening and started towards him, but Bellacine interrupted. "Will everyone relax and be calm for a moment? Okay, great, thank you. Allow me a small moment for a recap. Sirius Black- so it wasn't you all along, it was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed Harry's family and blew up that one street on All Saints' Day, but then Pettigrew escaped as a rat and went to live with the Weasleys. And it all would have worked out perfectly fine for the rat department, except Sirius here escaped from Azkaban, and Hermione has Crookshanks, who knew who everyone was, and kept trying to get rid of Pettigrew. Or Scabbers. Whatever you like. And Harry's dad and Sirius and Pettigrew and Lupin were all friends at school and wrote the Marauder's Map, which never lies, possibly because it has too good a conscience, and Snape hates the four of them. And now we're all here. Huzzah." She paused for breath, and her uncle stared at her.

"Who _are _you?"

"Bellacine Black. Sound familiar?"

"What-?"

"Excuse me," said Hermione timidly; Sirius Black was staring at Bellacine like he'd seen a ghost, "could I just ask something?" Lupin nodded. "Er- Sirisu- Mr. Black, if you don't mind my asking, how did you escape Azkaban without using Dark magic?"

"Thank you!" panted Pettigrew. "Exactly! Precisely what I-"

Lupin silenced him with a stern your-life-is-in-our-hands-so-watch-it look. Black frowned at Hermione, but not cruelly.

"I don't know how I did it," he said slowly. "I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn't a happy feeling, so the dementors couldn't suck it out of me...but it kept me sane and knowing who I am...helped me keep my powers...so when it all became...too much...I could transform in my cell...become a dog. Dementors can't see, you know...they feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions...They could tell my emotions were less- less human, less complex, when I was a dog, but they thought I was losing my mind like everyone else. It didn't trouble them." He laughed.

"But I was weak, very weak- but then I saw Peter in that picture...at Hogwarts, with Harry...ready to strike the moment he could be sure of allies...and to deliver the last Potter to them. If he gave them Harry, who'd dare say he betrayed Lord Voldemort? He'd be welcomed back with honours...

"So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive...It was as though someone had lit a fire in my head, and the dementors couldn't destroy it...It wasn't a happy feeling...it was an obsession...but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night wwhen they opened my door to bring in food, I slipped past them as a dog. They were confused. I swam back to the mainland, and north, to Hogwarts. I've been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch. You fly as well as your father did, Harry...

"Believe me," he croaked. "Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them." Harry gulped; nodded.

"No!"

Pettigrew fell to his knees, shuffling forward towards Sirius Black, hands clasped in something like prayer. "Sirius- it's me...it's Peter...your friend...you wouldn't..."

Black kicked at him and he flinched back.

"There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them," he spat. Yet he had helped Lupin to stand...and if Pettigrew was a Death Eater, he must be pureblood, same as Sirius...while Lupin was a half-breed, nothing...

"Remus!" he squeaked, kneeling imploringly before Lupin. "You don't believe this...wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan?"

"Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter." He glanced casually over the man's head. "I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?"

_And when you assume, you make an..._

"Forgive me, Remus."

"Not at all, Padfoot, old friend. And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing _you _were the spy?" He pushed up his sleeves. Someone was going to die shortly, she expected.

"Of course," Black replied; the shadow of a grin granted life to leap across his thin face. "Shall we kill him together?" he asked grimly, pushing up his own sleeves.

"Yes, I think so."

"You wouldn't...you won't...," gasped Pettigrew, shufflinmg to Ron. "Ron...haven't I been a good friend...a good pet? You won't let them kill me, Ron, will you...you're on my side, aren't you?"

Ron stared at his former pet, revolted, and pale green with pain. "I let you sleep in my _bed_!" He wrenched his broken leg away from the Animagus's clutching grasp.

Pettigrew turned, inched over to Hermione. "Sweet girl...clever girl...you- you won't let them...Help me..."

Hermione stepped backwards, dragging the hem of her robes away from his hands, horrified. Instead he turned to Bellacine. She took on unconciouus half-step backwards before realising there was a wall directly behind her, and she could not walk through walls.

"Clever girl...clever, clever girl...you understand, don't you? Please, please don't let them kill me...you know you could make them change their minds...you know what it's like, you're on my side, aren't you..."

"_Get away from me_," she snarled, and finally the human who had been a rat turned on his knees and half-crawled to Harry.

"Harry...Harry...you look jsut like your father...just like him..."

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?" Black roared. "HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?"

"Harry," whimpered Pettigrew, inching closer to the boy. "Harry, James wouldn't have wanted me killed...James would have understood, Harry...he would have shown me mercy..."

Black and Lupin together stepped forwards, seized his shoulders, and threw him to the floor. He lay there, shivering and shaking with fright.

"You sold Lily and James to Voldemort," Black snarled, practically vibrating with anger. "Do you deny it?"

The man cowering on the floor exploded into tears. It was sickening. "Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord...you have no idea...he has weapons you can't even imagine...I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen...He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me-"

_Maybe he did_, thought Bellacine. But she had no room in her heart for a tratior, forced or not- even if one of his soon-to-be killers was a part-human she'd rather see dead more than anyone else.

"DON'T LIE!" bellowed Black. "YOU'D BEEN PASSING INFROMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE JAMES AND LILY DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!"

Pettigrew didn't even deny it this time, only sobbing harder. "He- he was taking over everywhere! Wh- what was there to be gained by refusing him?"

"What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who ever existed?" Black spat harshly, an expression of terrible fury darkening his face. "Only innocent lives, Peter!"

"You don't understand," he whined. "He would have killed me, Sirius!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" he shouted. "DIE RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

Lupin and Black rasied their wands.

"You should have realised," said Lupin, almost pitying, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter."

"_Do svidaniya_," said Bellacine.

"NO!" Harry yelled.

Saving Sirius Black she could understand, but- _this_?

"You can't kill him," he panted. "You can't."

"Harry," Black snarled, "this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents. This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin means more to him than your whole family."

"I know," Harry said breathlessly. "We'll take him up to the castle. We'll hand him over to the dementors...He can go to Azkaban...but don't kill him."

"Harry!" Pettigrew grasped the boy's knees. "You- thank you- it's more than I deserve- thank you-"

"Get off me," Harry spat, wrenching away the rat's hands. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because- I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers- just for you."

"You're the only person who has the right to decide, Harry," said Black as he and Lupin lowered their wands. "But think...think what he did..."

"He can go to Azkaban," he repeated. "If anyone deserves that place, he does..."

"No one deserves that place," she said firmly, and was met by frosty silence. "What? You know how true it is." She sighed. "Look, we're all quite done screaming at each other, so let's bust this juke joint."

Lupin nodded. "Stand aside, Harry."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to tie him up. That's all, I swear."

This time, the thin cords burst from Lupin's wand and a moment later Pettigrew was writihing on the floor, bound and gagged.

"But if you do transform," snarled Black, "we _will _kill you. You agree, Harry?"

Harry nodded resolutely.

"Right," said Lupin, snapping into a businesslike tone. "Ron, I can't men bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it's best if we just strap up you leg until we can get you to the hospital wing." He walked over to the four-poster bed.

Bellacine took out her own wand and trained it on Lupin's back as he bent over Ron and muttered, "_Ferula_." Bandages wound up his leg, tying it to a splint. He stood gingerly and rested his weight on the fractured bone without wincing. Satisfied he was safe, she took her wand off Lupin.

"What about Professor Snape?" Hermione whispered, cautiously eyeing the place where he was slumped against the wall, still knocked out.

"There's nothing seriously wrong with him," said Lupin, checking his pulse. "You were just a little- overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er- perhaps it would be best if we don't revive him until I'm safely back in the castel. We can take him like this..." Lupin muttered, "_Mobilicorpus_," and Snape rose up, still unconcious, like a sinister marionette.

"Two of us should be chained to this," said Black, nudging Pettigrew with a toe. "Just to make sure."

"I'll do it," said Lupin.

"And me," Ron added, limping forward.

Using Snape's wand, Black conjured up heavy shackles, to which Ron and Lupin chained themselves and Pettigrew. They followed Crookshanks from the room, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron stepping awkwardly in three-legged-race style, then Snape, hovering courtesy Sirius, who was next, then Harry and Hermione, and last, Bellacine.

_Who do you think you are and why is a rat? _

_Where __did you sleep last night and why do you _

_sneeze on Tuesdays?_

_And why is the grave of a rat no deeper than the _

_grave __of a man?_

Closing the door behind the others, Bellacine thought quietly, _Because they're the same thing._

* * *

Hermione fell back beside her as they headed down the secret tunnel, out of the Shrieking Shack. "You were watching Professor Lupin, when he bound up Ron's leg, to make sure he didn't kill him. You don't trust him at all. I know what you thought- what we both thought-before, but didn't he just prove he's completely innocent?"

"Who?" said Bellacine with forced calmness, even though she knew exactly what Hermione meant. "Black or Lupin?"

"You know I meant Professor Lupin. You'll save your father when it makes absolutely no sense, when we didn't know anything, but Professor Lupin- well, all along, did you ever really think he was trying to kill-"

"Yes, I did, Hermione."

"No, don't you see! Bella, I don't know what's been wrong with you for all this time- I understand about Durmstrang, about your friend, but this is just overboard! Lupin's always been so nice! Remember this winter? Remember him teaching Harry how to make a Patronus?"

"Don't you _ever _say you understand me," she ordered. "Don't you say you know what it's like. People told me that all the time last year. Well? You know what? _They don't know anything_."

Hermione flinched back a little as they ducked out from beneath the Whomping Willow. "Sorry- I didn't mean to- but you must admit, I've got a point-"

"_No_," whispered Bellacine; her eyes appeared glazed over. Shocked. She stared up to the cloudy night sky- "Hermione, we need to get out of here. _Run_."

A cloud swooped back. They were bathed in cold moonlight.

Lupin and those chained to him froze abruptly. Snape collided with them. Black flung out his free arm to keep back Harry; behind him, Bellacine and Hermione also halted. Lupin went rigid, began to shake.

"Oh, my-" gasped Hermione. "He didn't take his potion tonight! He's not safe!"

"Run," croaked Black. "Run. Now."

No. Not while Ron was chained, helpless, to a werewolf. Not while her friends were out here. It had happened once- it had been her fault once. At that moment she swore it would never be her fault again...But all she could do was stand there in the cold sadness of the full moon, deja vu washing over her.

Simultaneously she and Harry leapt forward.

"Leave it to me- RUN!"

"NEVER AGAIN- ILYA!" she screamed; Harry stepped back.

A terrible snarling- the werewolf's limbs were growing, lengthening- hair sprouting over its face and hands, hands curling into paws, horrible, grotesque, inhuman-

Bellacine transformed and lunged, a cat, to join the fray, at the rearing, snapping werewolf- so too did Sirius, a great black dog, dragging it away by the neck. She heard, dimly, shouting, as the werewolf broke free of the shacles 'round its ankle. The dog anf the wolf were locked jaw to jaw, slashing at each other-

A great bang of blue-white light; she whirled midair and saw Ron fall to the ground as a rat dashed away- a rat, technically this was her natural prey, but she still had most of her human mind and it was a werewolf she was worrying about currently- she heard Harry shout something, saw Sirius leave the werewolf and tear after the rat- the werewolf sped off towards the Forbidden Forest, a manacle still dangling from one leg as it rushed past her, she leapt up, not knowing why-

Something large, iron, circular hit a small black cat full in the face. She saw a flash of something vaguely silvery, like metal, and felt coldness moving past her-

Everything went black. Appropriate, wasn't it?


	14. Chapter 14 Night Conversations

**A/N: And I'm back after far too long! Sorry to keep eveyone waiting on the chapter so many of you have been lookinf forward to!**

* * *

When Bellacine awoke it was very dark, except for the light of the pale full moon where it glinted through the clouds. The castle was brightly lit; the grounds were empty. She lay curled, still a cat, roughly between Hagrid's house and the Whomping Willow. The grass around her, about ten feet to each side, looked churned up.

Two seconds later, a human stood where a cat had been.

_Where's Sirius? Where's Harry? Where's everyone else? Where'd Lupin go- wait, no, you saw him, he went into the Forbidden Forest, _she thought. _What's going on here? _She had a pounding headache. Oh- Merlin- _no, _she had been a cat and werewolves didn't attack animals, only humans-

Which was her present form. Suddenly Bellacine felt a frightening prickling feeling on the back of her neck, as though someone- or something- was watching her, waiting. She whirled around and stared into the Forbidden Forest-

Nothing but trees.

Her heart was pounding; she had lost her night vision as a human; she had no idea where everyone had gone, and currently she was scared witless. She turned and pelted up the grounds to the castle steps. To the doors.

Which, of course, were locked. Of. course. Stupid anti-Black security...well, it was certainly keeping her out, that was true. "Let me in! I'm not a psychotic mass murderer!" she shouted. Actually...come to think, it was in all probability a bad choice to be found out here. She jumped to the side of the doorsill and transformed again. This was getting to be tiresome.

Excellent timing. Just then the door opened, and out walked Macnair, or whatever his name was, fingering the blade of an axe stuck in his belt. The blade was...if anything...a little too clean, as if no blood had ever touched it, but then, he'd certainly had plenty of time to wipe it clean. He didn't notice her; she took the opportunity and slipped in as the door swung casually shut.

She stared around the interior of the entrance hall, somewhat surprised at how large the castle looked from this perspective. Where to now? Ron would most likely be in the hospital wing, getting his leg fixed, so that was where she'd go. She went human- faster, at least for opening doors, and probably better to be caught wandering at night than in certain illegal forms.

When Bellacine arrived at her destination, she was greeted by the tall, thin figure of Dumbledore locking the door, his back turned to her.

He turned, only for a moment appearing surprised. "Hello, Bellacine."

"Professor- where _is _everyone-?"

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley are all in the hospital wing- that is to say"-he bent and listened at the door-"they _were_. Mr. Weasley remains; he is unconscious, though he shall be perfectly fine with a little rest. Professor Lupin is...as you know, he is in the Forbidden Forest at the moment. Mr. Black is locked in Professor Flitwick's office- seventh floor, and not terribly far away-" He sighed, and a look of ancientness flooded his face. "Macnair has left to bring up the dementors."

"What-no!" she yelped. "Professor, listen to me, he's innocent- you've got to believe me, it's all true, he didn't betray anybody, it was Pettigrew who sold them out, he's alive, but he ran-"

"I know, Bellacine," Dumbledore said heavily. "I spoke to him, I believe him, but it is highly unlikely that anyone else will. The known evidence is stacked against him; I myself once testified against Sirius."

"Professor- can't you do anything, sir-? Let me talk to him, at least, he's my uncle and I don't think he even knows who I am...Let me go, sir, please, I want to be able- to do something- his soul-"

"Bellacine, if you're caught in there...Ah, but you don't plan to be caught, do you? You can hide, you can transform- in a teacher's office there would be many such places- I hope you will not try to change any of your marks?" he added with a twinkling smile behind his glasses. "There is- a certain something- I can do this, to give you more time, it is a very simple spell and there should be no unpleasant after-effects." He held his wand up, and said something.

And suddenly the world was an hourglass, spinning; she felt quite drunk, she could not see and could hardly move for swaying...every bright light was an exploding sunspot on her retinas...When her vision cleared she was standing before a locked door, strong wood but not terribly thick, because through it she could hear a small clock tolling a time it had most certainly not been before, a time that seemed to have a great deal of disregard for the natural laws of the universe, because it was going _backwards_.

Flitwick's office. Locked door. _Alohomora_. Open door.

Sirius was sitting in a stern wooden chair, his head buried in his hands. As Bellacine stepped in, carefully closing and locking the door behind her, he looked up, misery in his eyes. He spoke as if talking to a mirage.

"You're not real at all," he croaked. "Are you, Bellatrix? You've only come here to torture me quick before I won't ever feel anything again..."

"No," she said hurriedly, "I'm not Bellatrix. I'm Bellacine." A very stiff silence ensued; it was clear the name meant nothing to him. "Sirius...well, you know, you had a brother. Regulus. And he was a Death Eater and all, and also he got married, and he's my father."

An expression of annoyance and dislike had flashed across Sirius's face at the mention of his younger brother, but now he appeared purely astounded. "No. No. That's completely- that's crazy- Regulus have a kid, you've got to be joking-"

"I'm not," Bellacine said, trying to speed this up...she only had so much time..."I'm his daughter. You're my uncle."

He shrugged. "Who's your mum, then?"

"Rocella Malfoy- nee Malfoy, obviously, but the idea is she's Lucius Malfoy's sister- you know that name." She knew the question that was coming next. "She's dead too."

"Oh," Sirius said quietly. "Sorry."

"No you're not," she said. "Thanks anyway."

He appeared to be mulling things over, and after several moments silence, spoke again. "That makes me your uncle, does it?" She nodded. _Brilliant deduction_, part of her itched to say. "Wait- wait a minute- I remember you!"

"I do try to be remembered," she said dryly.

"No...a few months ago...when that cat brought me the passwords into Gryffindor Tower, I broke in to get Peter..." His face and his voice hardened. "But that boy- Ron, I think- woke, and he shouted, so I ran before they could catch me. When I entered the common room you were in one of the chairs...you'd been asleep...I think you'd fallen asleep there and the noise had woken you...I didn't want people to investigate too much, to think you'd let me in, so I used your wand- it was on the table- I Stunned you and Obliviated a bit, make sure you wouldn't remember meeting me if they gave you Veritaserum."

A few empty spots in her mind seemed to fill again. "Thanks for that, then….It actually turned out to be a good thing- see, a friend of mine, Hermione, she'd been angry with me for a long time, I'm not quite sure what about...but when I woke up next day she apologised right away, I think she thought I could've died from that...No one dies from being Stunned, they die from much bigger things than that...," she added.

"Like what? Being betrayed by someone you thought was your best friend and would stay with you till the grave to Lord Voldemort and landing someone else in Azkaban for it?"

"That, yes. Hopefully that time is over now. Falling off your broom and being attacked by a werewolf and dying, yes, that too."

Sirius laughed, a brief laugh that sounded much harsher than a laugh should be. "And when was the last time that happened? Or is this just you hating Remus- don't pretend like you don't know what I'm saying, I have eyes and ears-"

"Last summer," she sighed. "Friend of mine."

"No one here..."

"No," Bellacine said, "at Durmstrang- I used to go there, till this. Friend of mine, boy in my class- Ilya Fyodorovitch Nevsky. We were playing Quidditch. Details?"

All he said was, "The only thing I know about Durmstrang is that I was threatened with it as reform school quite often. Pureblood mania and all that...I expect they taught you to be like this, it's not your fault, but you do hate him. Remus. Don't you? You would have killed him."

She could not answer; there was no safe answer; but her face showed her agreement.

"Another thing...you're an Animagus, aren't you? I could have sworn I saw another animal when I was fighting Remus...?"

"Black cat," she confirmed. "It started as- as something like entertainment when I was at Durmstrang, we'd learned it, it sounded interesting; it gave me something to work at...I'd only managed it properly once before, and that was for a dare, and then _that night_ it likely saved my life."

Meanwhile Sirius had stood and begun to pace Flitwick's office. "Merlin...after all this time, to die like this...I thought I'd made it when I escaped last summer." He looked wearily at her. "You have no idea what that place is like. No one does, until they've been there for more than an hour or two. Where do you live?"

This change in topic was so abrupt that all she could respond was, "What?"

"If your parents are dead, where do you live?"

"My mum's family," she replied nonchalantly. "The Malfoys, you know," she added in response to the slightly blank, slightly horrified look on his face. "It's not as bad as you think it is...At least I don't have to live with Muggles, right? That would be awful. I haven't been home once this year since the Gryffindor thing, that's going to be interesting...They've got a son, Draco; he's my age but he's in Slytherin. Born for it, if you know what I mean. It's always been on the he's-their-kid-and-I'm-not side, but of course that's true."

"Well," said Sirius, sounding as if he did not think this would be at all pleasant. _Which it won't be now on_, she reminded herself sternly. _Things are going to change_. _And it's fault, for getting in stupid Gryffindor. _"I'm sorry...about everything you must have stood this year...because of me."

Bellacine nodded- she saw something outside the window, grey- _dementors, no_- No- it wasn't- _Buckbeak?? _

And Harry and Hermione sitting on his back.

"Sirius," she said weakly, shaking, "I haven't the slightest idea what's going on here, but I think the rescue party has just arrived."

Sirius whirled about. "What the- how- Dumbledore told me himself he was locking them in the hospital wing- how?"

"You know, I believe it may be a good idea to, say...open the window?"

He shook his head. "Locked. I already checked."

They both gestured helplessly to the riders; Hermione, who looked as though she did not enjoy hippogriff (possibly resurrected) as transportation, drew out her wand and called, "Stand back!" through the windowpane.

After a metallic _click_, it promptly sprang open.

"How- how-?" Sirius gasped.

"Get on, there's not much time!" Harry ordered. Sirius lifted himself through the window, and as Bellacine was about to climb on as well, Hermione said, "No- Bella, you can't, Dumbledore told us he needs to see you in his office- something important, but he said he'd be a bit of time-"

"You're helping Sirius escape, are you not?" she snapped back. "So am I. So _was _I, apparently. And I think I've got a much bigger stake in this than the two of you-"

"When Dumbledore says go, you go," Sirius interrupted quickly. "I trust him, and I know this is all for a reason." He raised a hand in farewell. "Good-bye, Bellacine- I'll keep in contact- good luck- write to me if you need anything-"

Harry quickly said, "It's in one of the towers, there's gargoyles at the entrance, the password is a kind of sweet- I think he changed it this year; I have no idea what it is-

"'Bye," she whispered, and Buckbeak wheeled sharply to the right, floating up out of distance, soon out of sight, and she watched as Sirius was flown away. She half-suspected she would never see him again..._Don't think that! You will!_

Walk out of Flitwick's office, lock door, run down corridor-

_Forget about Dumbledore- who does he think he is, telling me what to do?_

_He's your headmaster. You do what he says. _The part of her that believed in power hierarchies was content with this. Bellacine on whole wasn't. _He's not Karkaroff, either, and this isn't Durmstrang. What can he do to me?_

_Put you in detention._

_It's the end of the year. What's he going to do, come to the Manor and put you in detention?_

_No...but I'm coming back next year..._

_Enough! _she told herself sharply. _For heaven's sake, just go there and get it over!_

So she did. Thanks to the Marauder's Map, Bellacine knew exactly where Dumbledore's office was, and it actually was quite close by. Soon she stood before a door flanked by two gargoyles, both of which looked completely unyielding; this was proven when she attempted to breeze past- they slammed together in front of the heavy-looking door.

"Chocolate Frog?"

No answer. Certainly what she had expected; furthermore, someone like Dumbledore would most definitely have a more...bizarre...password.

"Cockroach Cluster? No, nobody eats those...Oh, what are those things, the little caramel ones...no, not those...let's try categories. Chocolate. Lollipops. Licorice. Caramel, toffee, butterscotch, weird sour things, Muggle things- that's it!" she exclaimed. "It's some Muggle thing, it has to be..."

The one problem being, of course, that she did not know the names of any 'Muggle things,' most certainly not the sorts Dumbledore would use as his office password. Turning to the gargoyles, she said, "Excuse me...if you can understand me, I don't know how magic you are...I need to get into Professor Dumbledore's office, and I don't know the password. But I know it's something to do with Muggle sweets, only...I don't know any. I'm pureblood, you see, it's really not my fault."

There was no response; she scowled and began to tap her foot on the hard stones beneath.

"Acid Pops?"

Slowly, at last, the door opened, showing Bellacine a tight spiral staircase, which she promptly climbed. At the summit was another door, which, when opened, showed a circular office. She entered.

At the far wall was Dumbledore's desk; behind it, a chair and before it a smaller, less ornate chair. There were a few tall cabinets, some glass-fronted and some with wooden doors latched. Everywhere were silver instruments resting on little tables and stands. The walls were lined with portraits.

She stepped closer- the one nearest to her read _Armando Dippet_, and two dates. So, the previous heads of Hogwarts. Most were shown on a background of either a banner with the Hogwarts crest or their House colors. There were quite a few Ravenclaws, a number of Gryffindors, a few Hufflepuffs, and only one Slytherin, a tall, raven-haired man with a supremely bored expression on his snide face.

The brass plaque on the picture frame read _Phineas Nigellus Black_.

"Good evening," he said. "In trouble, are you?"

"You're my great-great-great-grandfather," Bellacine stated quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I am. But I have several great-great-grandchildren, and they have even more children. Who are you?"

"Bellacine Black," she said. "My father was Regulus Black."

"I see," Phineas Nigellus said. "Well. You know my worthless great-great-grandson, then? Sirius?"

"He's not worthless," she responded automatically.

"He's a disgrace to his family and to pure blood," he said snidely.

Before Bellacine could ask what her thrice-great-grandfather meant, the door opened, and Dumbledore entered. At once she demanded, "Why am I here?"

"Impudent," scoffed the portrait.

Dumbledore smiled thinly. "Why don't you have a seat"-he pointed to the chair before his desk-"and we can discuss that." She did as she was told.

"First of all," Dumbledore said, "I know you are an Animagus, thanks to Sirius, and to Mr. Potter. I will not ask you any further questions, I will not report you to the Ministry, if you swear you will not use it to sneak around the school at night, or wander out-of-bounds, or use it in any illegal venture."

Frozen, Bellacine could hardly think. Did he really mean to let her go completely; let her out this easily-?

"Why, sir?" she asked. "Why are you doing this-?"

"There are some things that cannot be helped," he replied. "How can I punish you, when Sirius and his friends wandered the school for several years- when it saved Sirius's life- when it doomed him to Azkaban? All lives are important- what about when it saved Pettigrew's life?"

"I promise," she said quietly.

"Now," he said. "I've spoken to Sirius tonight, and I've been speaking to Professor Lupin several times over the past few months. Did you know, Bellacine, he has known for almost four months you recognize him for what he truly is?"

"I- I don't understand, sir," she said, deciding to play dumb. When in doubt, deny.

"Did you know he was a werewolf, Bellacine?" She nodded once, the uncharacteristically harsh look on Dumbledore's gentle old face making her look down at the floor. "Did you want to kill him- do you want to kill him? Would you have killed him?"

"Yes, Professor. Yes, Professor."

"Do you think you could have killed him?" When she hesitated, Dumbledore said gently, "It's not that you wanted to kill him, Bellacine. We've all wanted to kill people. When I was growing up, sometimes there were people I wanted to kill. I think I could have killed them. But I didn't. Bellacine, that's what you have to learn- you can't do some things, even if you know how. It's what makes us reasonable, sentient beings.

"I speak for myself, and for the Ministry, and for my colleagues when I say we were all guilty twelve years ago. We sent a man to Azkaban without fully examining the evidence, and as it turned out, we were so very wrong. You cannot do the same again. Professor Lupin is a werewolf, and he has been for almost his entire life. But that is not reason enough to kill him; he is human too."

Dumbledore gazed down at the slightly cluttered surface of his desk for several moments. When he spoke again, his voice was less gentle and more authoritative.

"This is not Durmstrang. This is not any old pureblood family. The way you have behaved much of this year, Bellacine, this will not be tolerated any further. You are not in trouble at present. However, I will expect you to live up to the qualities of your House, as Sirius did before you. Be brave, Bellacine. It takes a different sort of courage than your classmates think of to be who you are, now, with so many ancient expectations before you. You are a very brave person."

Dumbledore nodded, gradually smiling, in such an old, sad way; she knew she was dismissed. At the door, she paused.

"I don't want to be brave, Professor," Bellacine said quietly. "I want to be me." She descended the staircase slowly, pausing at the foot.

The door into Dumbledore's office remained wide open, and through it, she heard him conversing in low tones with the portraits on his wall.

"So, Phineas," he was saying. "Do you still think she belongs in Slytherin?"


	15. Chapter 15 Completely Possible

**A/N: Yes, the last chapter of Prisoner of Azkaban; when I start GoF it will be in a separate story but I will find a way to put something in this story to let you know it's up. Or you could just (obsessively) check my profile. But if I can save you the trouble, I will.**

* * *

"That's impossible," Draco said flatly.

"It is not," she corrected. "It's completely possible and it's completely true. Tell you what"-Bellacine glanced around the entrance hall, but nobody looked to the left side of the door where they stood-"ask Snape about it, and he'll tell you exactly what I did. Ask him at breakfast and be sure all the other Slytherins can hear you, it's important they do—"

"Okay, okay, I will," he said hurriedly; a group of Slytherins had just come into the hall from their own passage down to the dungeons, and she knew her cousin could not be caught having a decently friendly conversation with a Gryffindor.

Bellacine went into the Great Hall, sitting beside Harry, Ron, and Hermione. None of them looked the worse for the previous night's wear- Hermione and Harry had explained everything to her that morning, while they waited in the common room for Ron. She still found it hard to believe that during the span of a few short hours her uncle's name was cleared (to some), the real traitor was revealed, and both innocent and guilty had to (yet again) run for their lives.

"Where've you been?"

"Taking care of stuff," she said dismissively. Stuff. Yes, that was it. Stuff.

Perhaps some of them would be thanking her in the end. But they wouldn't know whom to thank.

_Oh Merlin._

Lupin would know, wouldn't he...? He would...suspect...

* * *

They were sitting on the grassy shore of the Black Lake, gazing off into oblivion.

There had been another- the last- Hogsmeade trip scheduled for the day, as an end-of-term celebration, but the four of them had all opted out, instead choosing to remain at Hogwarts for one last day before the train ride back to King's Cross.

Bellacine rubbed at the small discoloured lump on her forehead, feeling slight pain as she pressed down- the previous night she had been, apparently, knocked out by the shackle still chained around Lupin's leg as the werewolf ran into the Forbidden Forest. She'd had a bad headache until finding herself some healing potion that morning and a dark bruise, but what did that matter? They were all safe; they were all alive.

A shadow loomed over them, and for half a second her heart began to race in terror. Then she looked up- very, very far up- and saw Hagrid, his ruddy face shining in delight.

"Know I shouldn' feel happy, after wha' happened las' night," he grinned, "Black escapin' again, an' everythin'- but guess what?"

"What?" they chorused, feigning confusion.

"Beaky! He escaped! He's free! Bin celebratin' all night!"

"Wonderful," Ron gasped, close to bursting out in laughter. "Really- amazing, Hagrid, that's great."

"Yeah...can't've tied him up properly," Hagrid said dreamily. "I was worried this mornin', mind...thought he mighta met Professor Lupin on the grounds, but Lupin says he never ate anythin' las' noght..." He noticed that their faces were keeping carefully blank. "Blimey, haven' yeh heard?" Hagrid's smile faded a bit and his voice lowered. "Er- Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'...Thought everyone'd know by now...Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose on the grounds las' night...He's packin' now, o'course."

"He's _packing_?" Harry gasped beside her, suddenly quite alarmed. "Why?"

She resisted the urge to retort _Why do you think, idiot? _but restrained herself, limited to, "Snape just told the whole school Lupin's a werewolf. What did you expect him to do?"

"I'm going to see him."

Ron, Hermione and she glanced at each other in surprise. What was the point if he'd already quit? Then she saw Harry was quite serious- and she had to know, if Lupin had realised- because Snape would never tell an entire House with no reason, he would know that, he would know...

"I'll come too," Bellacine said, and the two of them returned to the castle, before Hermione could ask.

* * *

Lupin stood alone in his office, emptying out desk drawers, when they arrived. He didn't seem at all surprised, completely keeping his composure when Bellacine entered; there was a sheet of parchment on his desk. "I saw you coming," he said, gesturing to the parchment. It was the Marauder's Map.

"I just saw Hagrid," said Harry without preamble. "And he said you'd resigned. It's not true, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is."

"_Why_? The Ministry of Magic don't think you were helping Sirius, do they?"

Lupin closed the door; she hurriedly moved away to the far side of the room, next to the empty grindylow tank. "No. Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives. That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him rather hard. So he- er- _accidentally _let it slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast."

"You're not leaving just because of that!" exclaimed Harry.

He smiled wryly. "This time tomorrow, the letters will start arriving from parents...They will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you...That must never happen again.

"Bellacine, you would...do well to explain the events of last summer...to your friends, they are your friends and they should know. It helps, in the end. Your teachers all know- Professor Dumbledore told us at the beginning of the year, as it was so unusual to have a transfer student in any case."

Suddenly her head was reeling and the floor swooping up to meet her.

"Excuse me," she said, and quickly let herself out of the room.

She remained in the corridor, leaning her pounding head against the cool stone of the wall. Maybe she wasn't well...wasn't there something, you weren't supposed to enter unconsciousness after a concussion...? A few minutes later, Dumbledore passed her, clearly on his way into Lupin's office.

"Bellacine, are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, sir."

Dumbledore gave her his knowing, half-frowning, half-smiling look; this was perhaps what could make him appear so very old: he had seen everything, he could still smile, he could still look at the world with the most serious of expressions, and he was only one man. "Are you here to talk to Professor Lupin?"

"No, I just came with Harry. He's inside."

"You do realise that you need to apologise to him, don't you?" She half-snorted--right, like that would ever happen. "I mean it, Bellacine," he said. "After the way you've acted in the past year...well, I think an apology is in order."

She stared at him. Surely Dumbledore couldn't actually expect her to apologise to Lupin? _Apologise_, of all things? And weren't you only supposed to tell someone you were sorry if you truly meant it--?

"Bellacine, I'm waiting. This is something you need to do; this is a part of what I told you yesterday night- the way you must act, if you intend on returning to Hogwarts this autumn-"

"Fine," she snapped, all esteem and slight, grudging respect for Dumbledore suddenly gone. "_Sir_."

* * *

Lupin came out of his classroom shortly afterward, his arms full. Dumbledore and Harry were still inside.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you, Professor," she forced out, staring at the floor. Not only did she not in the slightest wish to hold this conversation, it was awkward as hell. She was quite sure Lupin was scowling at her as he set off at a brisk pace out of the castle.

"Then talk," he said, his voice tight but remarkably calm.

Bellacine followed him. "I...was...prejudiced against you because of...past events. I thought...I thought you were...trying to kill me, to kill Harry, to kill...anyone. I held no doubt in the slightest that your intentions were, ah-"

"Shut up."

They'd reached the edge of the grounds. A thestral-drawn carriage was waiting for him; he began to load it with his bags.

"Excuse me?"

Lupin shoved the empty cage that formerly housed a grindylow on top of his briefcase. "Why are you telling me this? You don't mean to apologise to me- I assume you are because Professor Dumbledore asked you to, but I don't want to hear it. You hated me. Stop lying. I am- I _was_-"

_He knows_, she thought desperately. _Oh Merlin, he knows._

"-your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, I know Unforgivable Curses when I see them. That's a waste of your life, thirteen years old and attempting magic you shouldn't even know. When I heard all the Slytherins knew about my lycanthropy, I must admit, I suspected you; it's the sort of thing you would do..."

"I heard about that, Professor..."

He shook his head. "Yes, I know it wasn't you, I'm sorry I believed it could be. I know it wasn't you. Goodbye." Lupin climbed into the carriage and shut the door (did he slam it? Did he seem to be concealing anger?) and presently he was gone.

_I did that_, she wanted to scream into the leafy arched ceiling overhead, down the verdant tunnel through which the carriage path vanished. _Me! I did that! I told!_

_I am more than you think I am!_

* * *

Although the rest of the Gryffindors were saddened at the loss of what had apparently been their best Defence teacher yet, Bellacine couldn't help an inexorably giddy feeling the last few days before the holidays. Lupin gone for good (her doing, a secret that would have to remain clandestine and of which she was fiercely proud) and Sirius free, with a promise to write as soon as he could.

Exam grades came out the last day of term. She, Ron, and Harry all passed decently well on almost everything; surprisingly enough, her Defence grade was perfectly ordinary- so Lupin hadn't even marked her down, when he could have, when Merlin knew how often Snape lowered Harry's marks. Hermione, naturally, aced everything with a oft-ridiculously high score. Up in their dormitory, shoving _Numerology and Grammatica _into her trunk, Hermione surprisingly disclosed she was dropping not only Divination but Muggle Studies.

"It's a fun class, but I don't really need it. I know everything Professor Burbage taught us, and so much of it was obvious! Didn't you see that worksheet I had to do about why Muggles need electricity? Honestly-"

"Remember, I'm one of those people who doesn't even know what that _is_," Bellacine jumped in. "Why don't you quit Arithmancy, I don't even know how you can stand a class like that. Muggle Studies at Durmstrang was so much fun."

"I thought you didn't know what electricity is," Hermione grumbled. "What, was Muggle Studies such fun because your teacher let you do whatever you wanted during class and never taught a thing?"

"Van Rijn taught books, not weird magic-replacement power sources. It was supposed to expose us to Muggle literature, and most of the books he assigned were ancient."

"Well, I don't think I can stand another year like the one I had with the Time-Turner," she said decisively. She had used one of these devices the entire year to take extra classes, and used it in the end to rescue Buckbeak and Sirius. Dumbledore had sent Bellacine herself back to this time with a high-level spell she didn't know, but one Hermione had heard of previously. Naturally.

She kept delaying and delaying, but eventually Bellacine had to admit there were several things she needed to clear up with her new friends before they went home for the summer. The first was, as Lupin had suggested, to explain to _all of them_ why she left Durmstrang and what happened to Ilya Nevsky, which happened after lunch on their last day, outside on the castle steps.

Hermione knew, Harry had heard a very vague summary of events from Lupin what seemed like ages ago, and now Ron finally knew. Finally they all knew everything, and it astounded her how much they clearly cared, and how little it hurt this time...

Still no Quidditch, still hate Lupin, still Bellacine feeling practically killed herself and forever watching the lunar cycle like she was the werewolf, and forever remembering, but the past was past and the present didn't hurt nearly as much.

Secondly, the fact she was an Animagus. They took this rather well, considering its ramifications, but the incredulously aghast gape on Hermione's face was more priceless than fifty Firebolts. And they all promised the same thing- not a word to anybody, _anybody_, except for Sirius, who already knew.

Thirdly, she had to explain, it seemed, everything about the Malfoys: It was her home, they were her family. They didn't treat her badly. They were just as much hers as the other Weasleys were Ron's, and she loved about them just the same.

"But aren't they going to be angry when you get home and it's the first time you've seen them after you were Sorted into Gryffindor?" asked Ron. "I thought all of them were Slytherins, and you haven't exactly been writing to them this year."

"They'll learn to deal with it, and can't I just tell them Sirius supported the Dark Lord and he was in Gryffindor?" she retorted with a grin. "They can't say he's really against him because no one's meant to know that, and therefore they can't really complain about _me_."

"Dark Lord?" said Harry.

"What about?"

"Well...remember at the beginning of the year, when we were talking about Hogsmeade...you said his name. Vol- sorry, I mean You-Know-Who," he added when Hermione and Ron flinched. "Look at you. You've said it once this year but then gone back to using some other name, and you don't flinch when other people say Voldemort but you won't say it yourself."

"When you come from the sort of life I have- Durmstrang, the Malfoys- you don't use his name. Death Eaters don't use his name. I've never been allowed to and I wanted to try it, once. We've all heard how Dumbledore says it. But it doesn't feel right, to me it'll keep being the Dark Lord and I can't help it."

"Oh, Bella..." Hermione whispered.

She shook her head vigorously. "If you're from my sort of family...you learn not to flinch when you hear other people say it. You don't want any sort of attention that involves him that isn't necessary. You don't want people to remember who they used fight for their lives."

* * *

A car of their own had been claimed a few minutes ago when Ron dragged his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express. Now they ducked through the crowded vestibules until reaching the third-to-last passenger car in the steam engine. It wasn't long before they could feel the rails flying underneath their seats and see Hogwarts castle further and further in the distance. Nothing happened in the morning, except Hermione announcing her formal decision to drop Muggle Studies and Divination.

Studies and the trolley coming through, indirectly influencing a Licorice Wand duel which Ron won when his wand turned purple, started to hiss, and exploded. (Nothing out of the ordinary for a Licorice Wand, of course.)

Some time later, after they had eaten their highly nutritious meal of Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes, Hermione peered over Harry's shoulder at something outside their window.

Harry stood up, and when he moved, Bellacine saw something that resembled a flying dust bunny. Harry swung open the windowpane and pulled in a tiny grey fluff-ball of an owl from the train's slipstream. As soon as he retrieved the letter tied to its leg, which dwarfed the bird by several inches, it began to zoom about the car, cheeping madly.

"It's from Sirius!" he shouted, tearing off the seal.

"Not so loud!" she reprimanded. "What if somebody hears you? Go on, open it up!" They all dived for a spot behind his shoulder, vying to see as much of the parchment as possible.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle. I don't know whether they're used to owl post._

_Buckbeak and I are in hiding. I won't tell you where, in case this owl falls into the wrong hands. I have some doubt about his reliability, but he is the best I could find, and he did seem eager for the job._

_I believe the dementors are still searching for me, but they haven't a hope of finding me here. I am planning to allow some Muggles to glimpse me away from Hogwarts, so that the security on the castle will be lifted._

_There is something I never got around to telling you during our brief meeting. It was I who sent you the Firebolt- Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me. I used your name but told them to take the gold from my own Gringotts vault. Please consider it as thirteen years' worth of birthday presents from your godfather._

It was here that Bellacine left off leaning over her friend's shoulder. _Remember me, Sirius? Your niece? Don't you remember what family is?_

Harry was shaking something else out of the envelope, which he read over quickly, his face breaking into a stupendous grin, and read aloud, "'I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter's godfather, hereby give him permission to visit Hogsmeade on weekends.' That'll be good enough for Dumbledore! And--hang on, there's a P.S.--Ron, he says you can keep the owl!"

Ron and Harry exchanged a high-five, but Hermione frowned at the empty envelope, at Bellacine, and back at the envelope.

"What's eating you?" Ron said.

Hermione bit her lip, and a close-to pitying expression appeared on her face. "Why didn't he send you one?" she asked Bellacine. "I can't believe him- you don't have a permission form, he's your father, and he doesn't send you one!"

"Yeah, that's right..."

"Wait," she ordered. "Wait a second. I don't need a permission form to go into Hogsmeade, Dumbledore's had mine since before the school year started. My uncle sent it in the post with all my transfer papers. I can go to Hogsmeade whenever I please--"

"No," he said, bemused, "you can't...that's what you told us, that the Malfoys wouldn't sign it for you--"

"You lied, didn't you?" Hermione snapped, her tone accusatorial.

So- so I did," she said quickly. "Okay, fine, I did. Think about it. They had dementors guarding everything, patrolling the village, the world was crazy afraid of him. Right, like they'd let _me_ go to Hogsmeade!"

"But of course they would."

"Would they, though?" she asked bleakly. "I don't care, I managed to get into town without passing a single dementor, but there's one thing none of you understand yet. You're not going to understand it for a long time, not until you've lost half your world and the other half won't let go...Evil is the only true measure of humanity, and the only true measure of evil is humanity, because humanity owns the capacity for evil. Evil is a very faint line; it stretches farther and tauter than you think. Is everyone, everything, evil? No, of course not. But it's in all of us, every last one of us, from the day we're born till when we die. Not every wrong thing is evil. But humanity at its most humane is colder than someone who never gave a damn about anything."

"Evil!" yelped Hermione. "Since when were we talking evil?"

"You say they would have let me into Hogsmeade; they are apparently without fault. Would they really?"

Her mouth hung half-open in shock. "Yes, I think they would have let you go. You're saying we all are evil- no, that we all have capacity for evil. I know that. Everyone knows that. But what has someone like- like Dumbledore ever done?"

"He testified without evidence. Enter the consequences."

"What have I done?" she said brusquely, and this felt like a test. The answer belonged to her, though, the one thing she hadn't found the words to explain when it had almost driven them apart the past winter.

"You accused without evidence."

Her curious frown betrayed her confusion, and Bellacine had to clarify:

"Didn't you ever listen to me? I told you, Sirius wasn't my father, but you ignored me. No, you just thought I was lying and I didn't want to be seen as connected with him. I've been Bellacine Black all year, haven't I? Why not change my surname somehow if that's what I wanted? No, Hermione, when I told you Sirius is my uncle I was telling you the truth: he's my father's brother, which makes him my uncle. I'm related to the Malfoys on the other side, through my mother."

Hermione was quiet for a long time, looking down at her lap. Harry and Ron were silent too, although Ron was the only one of the two who didn't know- Harry she had told the past winter, and he, surprisingly, had not told anyone else. Perhaps he didn't realise the fact his friends weren't aware of this. No matter.

"Oh no," Hermione said quietly. "I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't know. We're sorry. We'll- we'll ask next time, we'll make sure whatever we think is really true and if not-"

Strangely, after so long- this was one of the moments she had been wishing for for quite a long time- Bellacine wanted it over. "Okay. Okay, I believe you. Just- let it go, all right? I'd rather we could forget about this and be friends."

The boys nodded stiffly and spent the rest of the train ride into Platform 9 ¾ playing Exploding Snap with a frayed deck of cards Ron fished out of his trunk, and talking about Quidditch- the World Cup was going to be played the next August. Ron invited Harry to his house, and almost offered the same extension to her, but Bellacine declined before he could finish.

"I'll probably go anyways- actually, write to me and we'll see how my summer is, if I need to get away from them for a while I'll let you know."

"Are you sure?" asked Ron. "You don't even have to go back to the Malfoys, if you want, you can stay at my place- or Hermione's, she wrote to her parents and they said it would be okay-"

It was clear they had discussed this before, and she did not like being discussed by other people. In any case, her answer was negative, and Ron shrugged before trying to catch his new owl.

The train pulled into the station, and several students who had clearly been waiting in the vestibule with their trunks leapt onto the platform. In their own compartment Harry and Hermione began to collect their things, while Ron tried to shove the owl inside his rucksack.

They said good-byes in the train because Bellacine most certainly did not want her family to see her with her new friends. She planned not to mention them- she'd make up something vague about other people, or a lie about not fitting in (well, a half-truth) and these preventative measures would certainly make her holidays more pleasant. She'd have to blackmail Draco into silence too.

The Malfoys were waiting by the east wall of the Hogwarts platform, Draco already with them and her uncle appearing exceedingly displeased. Now or never; she disembarked, pretending she had not seen them and walked over to them only after feigning to search for her family.

Her own family. What an interesting concept that was.

* * *

The return home was brief, and then Bellacine escaped quickly to put her things away in her bedroom. She stayed upstairs for all of the late afternoon that remained, golden sun spotting her green walls (yes, sadly, green; it was a bit inescapable and possibly some form of brainwashing technique that had failed entirely) until supper, which was an oddly calm affair, talking about everything that didn't matter and nothing that did. She found it interesting none of them mentioned Sirius's escape.

After the meal her aunt and uncle sent Draco from the room; sitting between them at the dark table Bellacine felt sandwiched and closed her eyes: this was not going to end shortly and not a moment of it would be enjoyable.

"Gryffindor," said Narcissa, shaking her head. "What are you trying to do? Rebel? Or is this something to do with Durmstrang; coming from a school with no Houses you might not have understood how serious this is, the House you are placed into will indicate the rest of your life."

Her uncle continued, "We've told you everything about the Sorting at Hogwarts you need to know, I think we made our preference clear, and yet—_Gryffindor_?"

"Was I _supposed _to get myself into Slytherin, then?" Bellacine retorted. "Because no, you didn't really make that clear, and it's not like I had a choice in the first place." _Oh, look at that, another lie; I need to stop this, don't I? _She recalled the Sorting—so the choice was its (his?) in the end, but she apparently could have vetoed any of the hat's suggestions she pleased. And yes, she knew they wanted her in Slytherin and she understood the House system perfectly well; nobody needed to know that.

"It's this business with Sirius," her aunt was saying quietly, and it seemed to Lucius, not to her. "She doesn't understand about—She thinks because he was with the Dark Lord and from Gryffindor it's become acceptable-"

"I didn't get to choose, all right?" she said sharply. "I don't know why I'm in Gryffindor; take it up with that silly hat if you please."

"Don't interrupt."

"But—"

"Be quiet!"

Her uncle took a deep breath and went on: "Very well then. Gryffindor. I can't believe it. We're going to have to set you some ground rules- no associating with mudbloods, for instance, or with that Potter boy or any of his friends. Actually, I don't believe there are any acceptable people in that House- make friends with the Ravenclaws if not Slytherins, then. They're second-best."

"We should have had you stay at Durmstrang...imagine," Narcissa said. "When I found out yesterday morning what Dumbledore had teaching at that school...I almost wanted you and Draco both out of there and at a good pureblood school."

"Yes, well," said Bellacine, "that was handled all right in the end, wasn't it?"

Finally they finished with her and free to go, she walked slowly into the hallway, then after passing the dining room broke into a run. The staricase, the one past the kitchen (servant stairs, much more narrow and slightly creaky, but she wouldn't have to see any of them) she took two steps at a time, and shortly was on the second storey. Her bedroom was on the left; Draco's was at the far end of the hall. She'd convince him later not to say a word about the past year, aside from what was acceptable to discuss, that is, nothing to do with her.

On her bed there was an owl, tawny brown and about the size of Hedwig. A scroll was tied to its leg. She removed it and slit the seal.

_Dear Bellacine,_

_I'm sorry I couldn't write when I sent a letter to Harry, but I didn't think that owl would be up to the load. (I'm sorry you can't keep this owl, but he was borrowed from the post office and I think they would like for him to return so they do not believe anything to be awry.) _

_I spoke to Dumbledore shortly before you visited me that night, and he had explained much of your story to me, although he seemed to not realise I didn't know you, of course. I'm not sure what your family has told you about your father and I, but you ought to know that we were never the best of friends, and in fact disliked each other very much. I never saw him again after I left home, but neither of us had any wish to. The point is, I am still your uncle and one of the only family members you have left outside of Azkaban, and you are not alone. (Also you and I are the last remaining with the name of Black, and though I can't tell you how much that means to either of us, it is true; sadly perhaps, but true. Someday I would like to show you your father's house, as I believe it is part of your inheritance. I don't want any of it, it's all yours.)_

_I cannot disclose my location to you, but rest assured I am somewhere warm and as far away from Hogwarts and the Ministry as I could get in these few days. Buckbeak has been a great aid, although concealing a hippogriff is a very interesting task, to say the least._

_I will see you again someday._

_Sirius_

Biting her lip, she folded the letter and tucked it away deep inside her trunk under a layer of detritus that was destined to remain there for a very long time, and laying back on her bed, Bellacine was soon asleep.

**

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A/N: Wow, I never thought this day would come- a full story, complete. I know, not much with the Malfoys, but...oh well. There was something, and it didn't end at King's Cross. See? Proof I'm not Rowling!

**Thank you everyone, for all 72 and counting reviews, for your PMs, for helping me when I was stuck, for putting up with the awful chapters and appreciating the good, and for the small miracle that one out of five HP books I will cover is over and done with in EVERY sense of the word. You have made this completely possible. This has been so much fun, and I hope you will all pick up on the next story (once I get it up)!**

**On that note, I don't have a title yet. Merlin.**

**FIN**


	16. Chapter 16 Not A Real Chapter

The first chapter of GoF is up under a title similar to this one (yeah, figure it out yourselves). Go through whatever route you feel like; I hope you will all follow me. I can update more frequently now that I'm back in school, next chapter should be in about 2 weeks. Hopefully.

Thank you all.

-toujourspurPAL

P.S. If there are any loose threads or things you'd really like to see explained let me know so I can work it in.


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